Pulse

Indigo shifts. Blades meet, silver-sharp, stinging, singing, sending shockwaves up your fucking arms. Dance. Side-step. Parry, thrust. Somersault. Bucket tips over. Shopkeeper hollers.

Knee-bent. Don't trust fancy footwork. Watch the hips. Wait for it. The shift. The slip. The screw-up. Taste blood. Or battle. Hard to tell. Blade-to-throat. Feel the pulse. From tip, to blade, to fingers. To your own fucking pulse beating too fucking frantic in your own fucking throat. Forget that he's a nomad. Homeless. Cast out. Like you. Forget it. Fucking forget it.

Step, step. Miss on purpose. Pretend it wasn't. Blame the floor. His frenzied speed. Your blinded eyes. And pretend you don't love it.

Rush. Footsteps fast as heartbeats on the floor. Stumble. Stagger. He's at you. On you. Over you. Hand on your chest. Knee on your hip. Don't buck up. Heartbeat in his palm. Pounding. Like yours. With yours. Know it deep like fever and shiver. Know its fucking source. Aware. Watching. Always. Never slice to close to the pulse.

Watch his mouth. His teeth. His tongue. Tormented crease between his brows. Let him watch you. Let him need it. Fucking need it, too.

Knee-to-groin now. Dirty fight. Stand. Spit. Watch. Samurai on the ground. Leer because you should. Because he needs that, too.

Wait. Watch him stand. Synch. Watch his chest rise. With yours. Fall. With yours. Pretend he doesn't see it.

And charge. Clash. Overturned table. Outside. From barrel to gutter to roofpeak. Make sure he follows. Don't be impressed. Be better. Be ruthless. Be fierce. Pretend your heart's not scared when his foot slips. Laughter slows heartbeat. Matches his again. Because you can see it. Pulse in lips. In throat. In vibrating blades. Because you can feel it. Drum beat in his feet. In his breath. In the savage in your gut.

Keep the beat. Cradled. Close. Safe. In your chest. In his. In your leap from roof to cart to alley. Elusive. In time. Four-four time. Tight turn. To river. To water. To cool the fire in your gut.

Rope bridge-sway. Feet faulty. Shake, shiver, add a backbeat. Step, (sway). Step, stab, (sway). Heathen dance, old as habit. Lead, lead, don't let him.

Rope bridge-quiver. Rope bridge-quake. Step, step. (Sway). Don't fall. Clumsy. Still upright. Plank swings up - kid's toy. You could sock him n ow. Fucking sock him. But don't break rules. No prison-boy tricks. Fucking kid stuff. Blue bands burn. His lips, his tongue, his teeth would cool. Lick in time with pulse. Heartbeat fatal-frantic-needful. Squall. Stumble. Slice. Rope bridge snaps. Tension screams from mouth, from gut, from footing.

Splash.

Diversion presses on your chest, on his; fingers of algae, grinning current. So deep down - dark - but his hair floats up, almost to the surface; heartbeats slow to match the sway of hair, the billow of fabric, claustrophobic lethargic battle of elbows, of wrists, and blades. Everything slows to the time of water: your heart, your breath, you need to kill him all float up, up, up with his hair and they almost break the surface of something but it's easier to push that the fuck away and grab his clothes and pull him to you. Taste surprise, his tongue, surrender, fish. ...Fucking fish? Fucking river.

Don't need air first, just hold him there; watch him turn bluer, deader, more sallow than before; taste victory, valor, sickly pallor, re-moistened blood; taste him not holding back, hips pressing into yours.

Swallowed by plumes of indigo - don't give in first, don't give in first; be stronger, let your lungs hold on and watch his withering, waning, straining for air and fullness and life and don't take in a mouthful of fishy water when his hand fights past the waist of your shorts.

Watch his face change; watch concentration take root, sinking deep in watery depth; watch his movements slippery, deliberate, fluid, controlled. Controlling. Do you want that? Do you let him? Find yourself flailing, failing, drowning deep. Let him. Guidance, not control - easier to swallow, chew, lie back and float under his hands, under his gaze. Under his assurance and out of your element, stroking leads to headiness, dizziness, groans and grinding hips. Surrender. Don't surrender. Give in. Fucking die first.

Strong hand guides you up, floating, fainting, higher, higher -

Air.

Head-first, flat-down. Breathe. Breathe. In time. In synch. Embarrassed. Breathe. Breathe. Don't fucking pass out. Lungs on fire. Body on fire. Fingertips tingle, burn, scorch, touch. Give in. Give in. Cool samurai skin. Rape-and-pillage pirate flesh. Clash. Dissonance. Meld. Harmony. Symphony. Sighs, breaths, heartbeat, heartbeat, pulse on your tongue screams out for contact.

Indigo shifts again. Bodies meet, fervor-stripped, fleeting, feeling, fleeing distance on some fucking riverbank in some fucking field. You're in him, or he's in you. Or it doesn't fucking matter. Because movements are mirrors. And breath, belief. Cock hard. Body warmed. Somebody's. Yours? Doesn't matter. Just fucking move.

Fucking rip him apart. Or yourself. Ravenous battle. Blood like sweat. Sweat like strength. Deep breaths. Shallow. Shallower. Don't let it touch your lungs. Don't let it slow the beat that moves his hips. Half-time, quarter-time, no-time. Forward, back. Close. Away. Closer. Not close enough. Too close. Breath on your neck. Your fingers on his chest. Pulse so clear -- are you sure your fingers aren't inside? Deep inside. Buried. Clutching his heart, scraping sharp ends of samurai bones. Slick hot pulse in your slick hot fingers.

Teeth-to-neck. Taste blood again. Taste lightning. Taste a pulse that beats with the one in your tongue. Sweat and breath, steel and blood, and those fucking heartbeats pounding loud and in your ears as one.

Rocking hips. Beat-driven. Faster. Frantic. Out of breath. Out-of-body. Out-of-soul. Something deeper. Deeper than soul. Deeper than blood, than water. Guts rearranged. Somebody's. Doesn't matter.

Samurai on ground. Knees in air. And shoulders strain. Features strain. Body, mind, beliefs strain. Scream. Shriek. Cry. Why can't this be fighting, too? Heart beating fastest, loudest, bursting first and messiest. Competition. Winner. Victory. Even in death. Because that's how it ends. Water squelches flames. Flame evaporates water. Nothing left but steam, sweat, strangled cries in the humid night air.

Beat, bridge, refrain, repeat until the drummer falls silent.