Creative Non-Fiction, now available in the freezer section

Dust appears.
It falls on my shoulders like stars fallen from the
empty discotheque of my body.
I erupt in movement,
dancing to the rhythm of the shaking earth.
I am moving so fast
that it startles me to stop
as my rhythm of balance is skewed with his presence.

Tilting, turning
continuously moving in line with the notes,
he moves.
Forward. To. Me.

He approached my psychedelic pain which shimmered aesthetically.
"Star dust," he spoke.
Spinning lights and coloured gels above
turn my face green, then pink, then red.

Handing me a glass and motioning to quickly drink,
I do without caution.
The liquid burns, but the music turns and turns
until we are laughing.

"I see young electric impressions. You will have to show me."

We left with no more words between us. Down four blocks and up two.

He hands me his guitar and speaks in a slur. "Stroke me hard like this latex instrument."

Imagine my nude silhouette is a masterpiece.
I experiment.
Scream it in harmony.

Absurd sense of angry raw sex
with a drunk like you.
The scent of rum lingers on my lips.

Gloriously surreal fiery passion.