Biography of Eros

Emil Schildt

The witnessing of things in the mind. But what mind? The lovers lay on the bed, handcuffed, saying please, and just for a moment one of them knew.

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Sleeping, one of them moaned. It was the dream of the interpenetration of souls. Death is in everything, crystalline arsenic dissolved in alcohol.

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They wore raptor masks. One used a small flexible whip. Its marks were radiant traces of ichor. Thus the walls of the sanctum were broken.

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They knew it was insanity, and accepted it, but differently. One thought: madness, endlessly. The other thought: madness, finally.

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In the dream words were absence. An empty book had contained all truth but for one false letter. He, or was it she, read the other's shadow.

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Inside the penumbra there was no dying--death, yes, always, but no motion except the back and forth of the body, the thrust, and the scream.

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Entropy, etiolation, emptiness: Nothing left but the bed, and the lovers on the bed, and the galaxy surrounding them, dark matter ascendant.