And then came a fawn-colored sea, streaked here and there with explosions of deeply coloured orange waves. The waters, which had been building bit by bit, finally broken its glassy surface in a typhoon, a pulse, of pleasurable waves. And as each rose, and fell within it’s short life span, they brought with them a tumultuous rush of sensations piggyback riding on a stream of rhythmic memories. Memories that may of long been forgotten, but still lingered patiently in the back of their minds, memories of things they didn’t realize they knew, memories that were simply old fantasies, old hopes, old dreams long forgotten or outlived. Their essences unwrapped into pigments of a poet’s ideal. Threads coming loose and showing within them how the other’s life would be, could be - had been. And from it, a pattern slowly began to blossom, petals slowly unveiling enlightenment to the very foundation of existence. That which all Gods kept hidden with a bitter sense of pride – for who were we to think we could take from them, the very source of what little power they still had over us. But then, much to the amusement of the same Gods, the sea begins to calm loosing its momentum and it’s fury. Waves of pleasure began to settle into a calm ripple, a shadow of the moment. And as it faded, as the moment of bliss and ecstasy faded, so did everything learned. Details becoming blurred and uncertain – nothing left but a melancholy monotone to linger in the back of the mind with a everlasting sense of ‘deju vu’ at the most random of times.
All of this, in the few seconds of a orgasm’s lifespan.