She sprinkled his acid remarks with nectar,
then used his moans to gauge the supple acumen of her craft.
She soothed him.
Advancing alchemical reactions,
her oiled hands heated his shoulders
until juices from his acid tongue
dripped holes into the yellow linoleum
below the healing table.
It quieted his tongue.
her fingers manipulated knots—
vibrating and tenderizing acid into
sugar’s sweet joy.
Holy smoke spiraled yellow
dissipating as it swept his body’s length ,
while the alchemist masseuse
impeded his pain, humming as she
pulverized knots and acid thoughts,
then sent him into the world,
where without thinking,
he tipped his hat to a passing stranger
while humming the lines of her hands.
Brenda Warren 2012
These words kept twirling into darkness, until I set them in the hands of a masseuse. To see where other people took the words, visit The Sunday Whirl. You’ll be glad that you did.