making love to butter

I was making love to butter when I fell asleep. it was late and I was exhausted although I knew she wasn't. it didn't matter, i had sufficiently pleased her and also knew there would be other nights. I would wake up, go off to work and ponder the gesture like a champ, being certain not to allow the heat to turn to promise or worse, sentiment. Butter had a clear need for distance and like so many before her use alcohol in late hours to bridge the temporal gap. She was all there, conscious but this is the trick, in the unutterable sense she wasn't. So, in this state, the days dragged on and I had no more days, not since the biblical plague.

The plague was a moment of mortality. I had somehow, through fatigue, allowed a common illness to infiltrate my tonsils and swell with ulcers. Every breath was painful. In another time and place it would have killed me but as it was, I survived. The emergency room provided nothing or worse, it provided nothing and a hefty bill. If I were a better man I would have presented with health care and a fat check but this moment was nothing of the sort and I was treated as such. No doctor visited me, no stethoscope was laid on my chest and no concern for my health was given outside of the tech who took the culture for analysis. 'Typical' they called it, but i almost perished and there was no one to account for it. These are limited times and this moment will come and pass. Discard the frivolous and seek a higher cause or leave the way clear for it was the message. the smallest thing could end a person and it happened all the time. i thought of waking up alone or worse, waking up with a baggage claim and little else to show for it. The mark of a coward. It didn't matter i was Don Quixote and this was a method of engagement. it didn't matter if i was right. that's what they all knew and that is what I aspired not to know. The moment I let go of youth is the moment of death so I kept on in bewilderment. I had at least this thing, this one thing, the connection to a planetary spew, a blog and a sense that I learned something between wanting a crystal and saving it. But i had no more time and I knew it. Despite this i spent many hours flipping through movie channels in the ninety degree heat and sipping on portuguese sparkling wine. I am a race horse heading for the triple crown. I am the dead.