Saturday, August 9, 2014

Des Frissons

She would never be more beautiful than she was in this singular second.

He wanted to frame the singularity. Desire was an insubstantial concept though, and an insufficient means of preservation as well as a presupposed sanctimonious sanctification; he made the effort, if only to be able to have been said to have made the effort, albeit anachronistically, or artlessly, or even just admittedly inadequately.

But he made the effort.

What could be said of such an obvious obviation of an opportune opponent, one so judiciously justified in the just desserts dealt out throughout the dwindling dealings they had shared, the depleted delectations, and deservingly so — and so dearly, delightfully depleted.

An illicit iris’s sliver sent shivers down his spine — il faisait des frissons — faintly flickering, fading, photonic failures of the fatidic fictions so gingerly jilted and adjourned somewhere after (or between) the lines. A silhouette sent a subtle shiver through the aether-electrified air; he could remember the feeling but wasn’t really sure if it traced to this saccharine siren, or conceivably something sourced in the saddening, dour, downcast devotions offered as a supreme simulacra that could serve as a substitute for subservience, which was really just a doubly selfish psychological symbiosis, both of them needing more than they had and both of them offering what little they could.

And that was the beauty of it — is the beauty of it — that there was never a more devoted duality. It compromised the core components of their caustic and considerate correlation; they called it love — love, love, love — something like love, because the word was an approximation of a condition and the condition was an approximation of a word, so they slotted this sound in, like it would mean something if only it was stuttered in sufficient subsequent sequences — maybe then it would mean the approximation they estimated its inestimable self to be. But that was obsequious and prolix, and more than anything else, pathetic, so they left it at that and just let loose their tetragrammaton of tenuous and tenebrate testimony that meant something like the feeling that they could never quite put their finger on.