Photo Post: License to ‘Killick’

License to Click

They kissed.

Lightly, at first, gently testing the water. The temperature seemed just right with strong indications of warmth in the near future. They waded into the shallows, nuzzling against the reefs, the waves slowly dissolving their essence. A distinct lack of sharks, sting-rays and men o’ war in these depths promised greater safety and familiarity in sun-less interiors. The constant alertness for currents slithering enticingly beyond light and sight slunk away into recesses best left unexplored.

They kissed.

He let her swallow him, nibble by nibble. Weirdly enough, he could taste her and feel her digesting him…simultaneously. Stray visions of Escher-esque surrealism flashed across his mind, which itself was twisting itself into Mobius strips with every passing second. Time. An interesting and useful construct but slowly being rendered redundant moment by moment. Time consuming time. Escher. The salty air seasoned by the tanginess that was her, his tongue besieged by an army of flavours that ultimately penetrated his defenses and assaulted his nerve-centre of operations, his chapped lips soaking in her moisture while desperately hoping that this wasn’t one more goddamned mirage…the ground beneath him was really a cloud.

They kissed.

She inhaled him. Truly, madly, deeply. Savagely. The ocean’s breath streamed across her skin, delicately weaving them into lacework of intelligent design. Each stitch raised goosepimples on her skin. Or was that his effect? She was too immersed to discern any difference. Was this what drowning felt like? Popular wisdom postulated that water filling the lungs, simulated or otherwise, was torture at best. At this point, it did not matter. She was willing to savour this plunge in his embrace. And plunge she did – they both did – through the sunset-brushed darkness behind her eyelids, towards total annihilation, total union. Towards that infinitesimal point where the universe gave birth to itself. Recursion. Escher.

They kissed.

And remained blissfully oblivious to the lens pointed right at them.

Guest Post by Nitish Nair. Scientist. Writer. Poet. Photographer. Read his previous post: Still Life

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