cobalt

ENTRY: Train Station in Hot City, en route to the Hot Zone.
PERSONEL: Bill Cole.The Queen of Microbiology.

At one minute past noon, I am snapping through a
morass of faces in search of my contact.

Cole! Cole!

This station is a zoo covered in dust, with millions of teeming microbes.

Cole!

There is his head, bobbing amid the limbs.

Hey Cole! Am I late, shaking his hand. How
long have you been waiting. O, says Cole, we just
got off the train.

The Queen of Microbiology. Her hair is
ultra black natural, unstarry black sky, bereft of light black,
darker than pavement. Her eyes are blue sky burst of marble,
blinking in tender array, glass and sparkled. Her skin, pale, pink,
curved in autoerotic waves of drill.
My clutch urges me to tear off her clothes here in station.
Her nipples, Invisible to the naked eye, incubate dormant beneath her shirt.

I had a dismantling dream about her last week,
which I will describe later.
Cobalt! She says and kisses me joyfully on the cheek.

Ahhhh, I quiver; my blood boils tea-like with infection of bliss.