When making love humans like to skirt around the subject then take off their clothes. After this their biochemistry, matter and viscera float up to become rippling spheres of emerald water. So begins one’s orbit. That’s the most basic move, the Orbit. Some like twisting; others prefer conjoining, a Möbius Strip. Experienced partners can attempt the Binary Star or the Helix. New generations are partial to multiple globes at once, three to twelve, so now you have the Snooker Process, a Lucky Galaxy, pole-squishes. Then there’s Ringing. One partner becomes hollow while another spins through this new void, pivoting off the southern portion of the wet circlet, splashing through like it were a lagoon. Yes, partners always float in this state, though connection makes for the fundamentals. At the point of climax one orb or both will gasp, vortexed, ex nihilo, culminating ocean expansive, briefly infinite. Physical laws shoot off the concave this way. Universes are always created, new dimension shimming through to the transcendent levels, becoming quantum, solid in some other potential space. La petit mort de chaleur. It all ends when the emerald water descends again, soaking the duvet. This is how humans melt back to a vague presence. When morning comes all lovers will be initial again – each will be an engine of others’ motion, not desire, unclasped.
Ian Macartney is a writer. He can be found at ianmacartney.scot