Careful touch. Fingertips. Blind fingers pave new roads by touch. Dizzy from the smell of her hair. Kiss. The city slowly explodes in my head, bridges soar up, throwing up tram cars chasing each other. Cars spin their wheels helplessly in the air. The walls of the houses hang above the ground, the wires that pull them together strain and burst, cutting the sky. Then, accelerating, the floating fragments twist into some kind of insane tight spiral and in an instant shrink into one point, a small black pupil. He is so close that I can see how the blue universe of her eyes is being born around him, gathering from a cloud of fragments.
The white silence gradually dissipates, letting in the sounds of the city. We are standing at a crossroads, and streams of cars are rushing around.