Carpark; 11.30

Crammed in a cortina
Staring out at rain slashing
night-puddles slinking through the carpark.
Pubs closed, no parties.

A physical understanding
between bodies violating other's space;
The retention of one's own for one's own
being superfluous to the moment.
Just listening to others breathing,
Exchanging an awareness of other lives - an awareness heightened by the rain's primeval, rhythmic drumming on the hood.
Rain, always rain,
Bloating their senses, drawing them back,
Back to the common core.

Swirling together
in this half-grasped knowledge of the essence,
their beings slowly merged.
All that each had ever thought and done
Folded over
And slid into the collective consciousness
which hovered, like the smoke, lining the roof of the car.
And still, the rain's insistence
The smell of close, pulsing bodies.
The car spinning in the glistening night's void.
No longer units of integrity;
They had offered up their individuality,
Rain-mesmerised,
To a greater Ego.
Thus, blurred in nothingness, they became everything.
A revolving total
In a stoned Friday night, cortina-encapsulated, communion.

T.F.C.