Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search

Average Rating

(0 votes)

You must login to vote

3 AM


Secrets found only in the shadow of her step, I trailed hollow footsteps through the night, accompanied by complex gyrations of the complex human mind when sound and body embrace that which follow the ardor and cadence of a dance. The lilt of her harp body was accompanied by the twang of my bass, snares and lulled guitars mixed within the tempo of technologically induced sound patterns. The quickly induced changes of movement in effect triggered response of the brain and soul combine to create not only a night to remember but also the intonation of life which follows.

No expression matches that of a satisfied woman, nothing can surpass the frosted glaze a soul saturated in heat will give to the eyes. Not only will the body melt between fingers, mold between voices and pulses, it will shudder with anticipation, the raw human sensuality overrun with the bold sexuality which lies dormant between sheets of rules and dictated morals. Influential fluids overcome sane thought patterns to create distortion between correct judgment and simple pleasure yet none can truly stand up to the temptation a well built melody, a cocktail concoction and a dance to boot.

Three hours across the line of night and day, dawn in birth, is when all seems to blur into a faded defiance of light. The denizens of night crawl from their abodes, carefully following the myriad of lights and palpitated frequencies to the origin of movement, the revelry. Once in the plaza of dance and carousing we find ourselves enthralled with the design of charm and wit, each night a multifaceted plan for pleasure, both innocent and devilish, each has in it the tortuous sense of reality; each human is out for his or her own sexual gratification. Labyrinthine plans applied by both parties complete the winding sensation of carousing will end in a complete satisfaction of the juvenile mind.

Returning to the boogie, which was taking place on the scene, the dance was engulfing me in euphoria unknown to my impressionable mind. Excitement does not begin to explain the depth of the night, nor does the sense of sorrow at her departure give justice to the joy she had given to me. Kindled by the fact none could parent me, none to counter my own judgment, none to defy my expectations, I was once more enthralled by her movements.

I do admit, our paces did not always follow the jurisdiction of customary laws of dance, yet we continued, oblivious of others beside us, oblivious of the sweat, no attention wasted on the many reactions of others, no, it was interaction between her and me. I cannot trace the emotion I scurried through, yet each time I saw her face, each time she looked me in the eye, there was something, I saw beyond the night, beyond the faint whisper of secular bodies, I saw her smile. I found some hope in the fact I might have a chance; I might be able to run on land spread with her in my arms. I cared not that utopia could see me, I cared not, I dared not to care and lose my edge, that which let me concentrate all my whim and bravado. Defying my own expectations and limitations, I felt pain course through my legs, yet nothing would make me stop dancing.

Now of course, you may question my tactics, I would question yours also. But lest this is not known, I couldnít care less. The only advice I keep true to my heart is this; never let ego get in the way. So I danced, my body noting all the soft changes in her manner, I also paid attention to her fingers. I clinched my hands to hers, her fingers played and strummed them and then her left hand crawled upwards, curling my hair with her fingers. Reggaeton, trance, salsa; all felt our passion. Fervor and ardent behavior dictated the night.

Bloodstream deciding the flow of the night, parasitic clinches, I was a vampire, she my prey, I would not fail, this chase would take chapters, segmented across bloody epochs, each night engulfed in mirrored fates, our reflections becoming specters, our souls becoming those of the night. Designs of cross-cultural, dual-ethnicity or multiracial background, my land has no bars, no restraint upon access. Achievement of gratification at own cost.

I like dancing with this girl, flat out; I would rather not dance with another. If I ever found someone who dances better, or entices me more, shame on them for they attempt to delude me. Those who should be ashamed, I dare you to tempt, for I will tempt thee also, coax you into believing Iím actually interested. I have reached some ethereal plane, one of ambiguous gaiety. An aesthetic explanation would be this;

When night folds light into orbs of rhythm,

the soft tension which enfolds from simple revelry,

communicates that which seems far off,

into simple melodic interludes of dance and heat.

I said goodnight to her, reluctant, even though I knew I would see her but three days later. To those who read this, the night did not end then. My entire life is an assemblage of nights and interludes.

All not saved will be lost.

Related Items


The following comments are for "Journal: 3 AM"
by Siah

Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.