Disquieting 004 / Luxury Repose

“. . . with all of its tensionless rugosities?” - Michael Lentz, 𝘚𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘩

“Yes, my dear, get in the boat,” said the aspirant to the escapist with the epigraph. The façade preceded the intentions as designed by the insentient black whips. “More morphine,” she said, “to respond to the unearthly possession.” Insects lay littered as literary specks to letter the words. “No, no, Fruen, you did ring, and the wicker sticks, they dilate the ardour, they do.” The placid scene was painted with feverish clarity, as if imagined. “The reliques, they are polished, yes.” Puff, puff. “Like the blood of heroes, Fruen, but the dog, the dog!” The wood creaked and the paddle held. “You, with pilgrim lips, nourish not, but penetrate the margins. For fanden!” Eyes met in betrayed aspects of growth disinclined to work. “Bold to be sure, Fruen, we must hold, hold still; thy shores may yet dispense.” The canvas of waves flushed the gunwales, stalling the astonied inhabitants. Puff, puff. “The precipice is simply unsocial; are we there?” The eyes see each other in rueful colors. “Yes, Fruen, the tumbling torrents and unquelled natures are left to the cold rush of the subjection.” She stands. “Help me out, my dear, so galling this long yoke of luxury repose. The dog! Get the dog!”