The Euphoria
I will not see it. I hold it at bay. Ignore its movement. Its sinewy writhing, always slipping away. A stolen glance, legs, hips, torso, I see it all. She knows and she waits for the fall.	I can see it. At the edge of my vision. I turn, pivot at the waist, scan the room. A quick movement, darting, and it's gone. Was it there? Or where? Where was it?
I will not hear it. I put it out of reach, take away its speech. Promises and temptation. Sweet sensation. Weaves itself into the song. Whispers in my ears. Moans for more. Lures me like a capable whore.	I can hear it. Behind me. Sudden and brief. I freeze and listen. Intently. Not part of the music. From the street? It's near. Who's there? Is there someone here?
I will not smell it. I ignore the passing perfume, As the elevator doors close. Alone with her. The lure resumes. Wafts leisurely towards, over, through me. Seize her, love her, breathe her.	I can smell it. An unexpected passing whiff. My nostrils flare and my forehead creases. Organic. From the garbage? No. Where is it? What is it? It disappears.
I will not taste it. I make it metallic in my parched mouth. That secret liquid, salty with sweat. Heated by passion, delight in the night. Thick and sugary, syrup spreading. Moist within the bedding.	I can taste it. In the back of my mouth. I roll my jaw. Reach with my tongue. Was it sweet, like old candy, or bitter? Not something I ate. Or drank. I cannot remember.
I will not feel it. I will not let her touch me, take me in her hands. Soft and gentle skin, smooth and warm. Curving into valleys, slippery and wet. Heaving up like groaning mountains, Exploding from the Earth's own core.	I can feel it. A furtive scurry across my unprepared skin. I reach for my legs. My arms. Nothing there. A prickly chill slowly spreads. It was nothing. There's nothing there. I felt nothing. It's nothing.
The Mania Stalks like a hungry tiger, observing. Moving soundlessly through the bamboo forest. The Paranoia Lurks like a hyena at the edge of the firelight. Its green eyes glow in the pitchblende night. The Loathing Coiled like a snake upon a sunny rock. Awakes from sleep to strike to bite. The Sadness Sits like a spider in the center of its web. Darts out to poison its tangled captives. The Euphoria Soars like a seagull in the seashore draft. Plaintive calls ever distant.