previous  |  main  |  index  |  next

October 9, 2003 the sound of knead The rain sounds viscous and gray.  With eyes closed and strange hands upon me, I hear consistency and color.  The massage therapist kneads in lubricated silence.  Leaden rain thuds outside like falling mercury.  I smell the attention she gives a hard knot.  Her devotion sends a pulsing current to my Prurience Chakra.  If not enjoying life, I am not minding it.

©  2003 by the beastmaster