The Fourth Floor of Frenzy

A blunt fumbling of zippers and hooks, traffic outside the apartment stops being a distant sound, becomes a pulse shared between two. Discarded garments tumble over themselves forever rejected, a kind of liberation, yet we want only to be bound, to be held hostage to this delirium. A bed surfaces, breaking our fall. Jostle, lever, flex, blind movements in a broken clock. Now the need, now the struggle, now the mad claws of an unquestioning passion, while an enveloping breath devours us both, one gasp at a time.