An intimate hissing sound, with eyes closed, the pleasure of filling ones lungs with air. With fresh summer evening air. Enhancing ones blood with oxygen. To support thought. To support movement. To support life.
Space is created to welcome the volume of air, ribs spreading apart, skin stretching over the torso. Stretching until the point it hurts; a little. A bit. So the pleasure is not taken for granted. Or, one might add, the passion one feels for the moment makes you desire even more, more. More. Like an orgasm you wish would last forever.
When you feel it coming, the moment you know it’s unavoidable – you hold back, anticipate the rush, the explosion – and then release. You let go so completely. And you fall.
Once you see the ground, you jump on top of your fall, and pull, strain, you ride it from your groin into your head. Until it hits. Your lungs filled with the air you don’t let go of.
And then you see the fireworks.
Hold still for a moment... before... you... breathe out.
And release.
To the oblivion so complete it brings tears to your eyes.
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