Between her thighs or a marathon thousands of years long

I won’t court.  I don’t even want to.  It is from this that I derive delight. Expectation of expectation.  In the reticence of courtship.  In making court without a single word. At a distance… It tears the spirit apart. The state of overflowing with raw material. This material moves my body aside from within. To the brink of impossibility. I lack ozone, capable to fill my volume.  

How small the Universe is!  

It has to come true finally! Silent bashful wet languor  directs its stream towards me, and its benumbed and stiffened thighs capture my volcano,  which starts to crush it with the might of increasing strikes.  The material,  that in the form of a resin has stuck to the inner walls  of this mightiest chemical laboratory, abruptly starts into motion and, melting, shoots hot scum into the air so that then – oh, heavens! – to rush forwards and fill her with a steady beat of erupted lava. 

Silence… Calm. Here, between her thighs, it feels good.  Extraordinarily good.  

I stay still…  I am in safety…  Like then… When I uttered my first cry, pushed out into this world by mother’s being… 

Moisture and warmth… Candles are flickering… No, these are torches already. We are dancing round the fire.  She chooses me.  Such is the ritual. And such is the law.  The law of the ancient tribe,  from which both of us made our way into the XX century. But at this moment – “ladies are to invite for a dance”. It is she, the girl, who is to choose a man. Such has been the decision of the Council of the Elders. I already know: she will choose me.  

In order to perform an act on the bank of a mountain stream in the silence of the night, in the mystery of a torch burning over our heads.  The act of copulation. The first small brick of the future thousand-year foundation. 

Here, you must have already guessed… There is no need for me to court today. The hand of the compass never makes a mistake. The only thing left is to choose the direction. Heavens be praised! The stars have favoured me. 

12 chimes of the bell  can be heard through the window opening. It’s midday. This time I am waiting for her to come at midday. We are in no need of the night’s help, like then. Near the fire…

A writing-table. The script is nearly finished. The final chords of the symphony coming from the waiting room render the feeling of the completeness of the form to me. Take the world as if you took a woman! I am speaking to myself, paraphrasing the words of a great magician in music Alexander Nikolayevich Scriabin. 

The doorbell rings. She is at the threshold. Now I know.  Everything I have been worrying about all those years, has suddenly dispersed  and instantly vanished. So it should have happened: the form found the content. The worry has passed. This time the studio won’t reject it. It will have both the form and the content. There is some time left before midnight. I choose the content. So that after midnight I might be crazy about the form again… Have I missed something? Oh, yes… The author’s fee! What a loafer you are, Reader! After all, you can take care of it yourself… Don’t interfere! The progress and the rhythm of the day cannot be harmlessly disturbed.