Heightened awareness

As with a daylight visit to a nightclub, when the morning-after, melancholic echo of late-night jazz brings only sour emptiness and headache, the reality of spunk-starched sheets and stickiness, stale breath and stubble rash, rarely failed to deduct pleasure from the memory of the night.

Not until my eyes alighted on the tawdry apparatus for the drugs we’d taken, until I heard the crackle of the plastic as I turned, saw your tethered wrists, your staring, sightless eyes, did I understand why the ecstasy of last night’s orgasm was so vividly recalled.