Seizing, wanting, sweating as the body gets its fill,
its centre, never out of range of the something so intensely something.
It can be heard and is the intensity of all of it.
Even when perfectly still, we are still moving.
A reverb of the deliberate and obstinate desires turns into an echo of soft assaults that no one body of bodies could hear
without going mad and starting to tremble with tempo.
Together without reservations behaving as a simple, simple something.
A pulsating thumb.
Sweet sharpness of sweat, salt and salient spheres beads off the body.
Corrupted fluids reverting to a simpler form, a no form, a-form, a steam rising.
Its uninterrupted dripping is the quality of intensity. The measurable unmeasurable amount. A degree of fever.
The limbs of women fixed in movement is the breath mouthed. A wild fire. A wildfire.
The impressive heat is a welcome violence from the body to the matter as molecules of tongues, limbs, legs.
The random motion, especially with the first, control the direction and speed, the violently happy.
In these extreme conditions the potent blow strikes dull, hard but dull, where later shades of blues and yellows and shades of purple is proof,
the rhythm is not of rhapsody but is rhapsody.
Push into the closely packed, as the perverse pleasures of the teaching of bodies vibrates into the highest note, entirely knotted from the one
to the entered entire. The no treatment of the tingling numbness of the instrumental being cures not the residual sound, sounding as the last vibration
filling my entire entire. It repeats so long and beats the being into a body, finally fluid in form.
Something touches a wild, wild centre.
A pushing body of bodies bleeds into blows, slams into the entire, softly silently shouting.