i was a child of 8 or 9 when i broke a thermometer and watched the mercury magically ball itself into groupings, seeming to seek each other out as it slide effortlessly over the scared linoleum surfaced top of an old kitchen table.
i placed my face as close as possible, observing the shifting; using a piece of glass to break things apart to watch them join back together. the tight, shiny surface seemed to be alive as it reached towards others of it’s kind, attracted to the missing bits of itself.
i felt the same kind of endless fascination the first time i saw the perfect flesh of an erect penis. skin so delicate and thin that you can see through it; so unbearably soft that the only thing that mimics it, is the flesh of a newborn baby.
like the mercury, the subtle shifts and movement drew my eye and imagination. one, cold and dangerous, impossible to touch or hold, the other warm and welcoming, though no less dangerous, begging to have my hands explore the changing surface.
i could spend hours in concentrated study, closely examining the varying differences between the slope of one vein and the other. there is such beauty in the topography, in the tightness of the skin exposing the delicate features underneath. it’s glorious.