An old one I just stumbled across.
Convergencies
1.
At the Window
She
regarded the nearly empty bed dispassionately.
"Don't
go,"
She
thought she heard him say in a voice like rotten thread,
But
it was only the wind.
She
jumped lightly to the sill and was gone,
A
shadow skimming over the fields.
2.
Reality in the Evocation Tank
The
display begins with a stroboscopic urgency
And
an Etch-a-Sketch style: spare, unreal.
Soon
the image of a gryphon acquires depth
And
loses its surrealistic tone.
There
is no sound at first, then a metronomic clicking,
Dopplering
down to synchronicity with the beating light,
Then
beyond, each tock a rumble in the gut,
Precipitating
ripples upon ripples:
Loose
bowels, goosebumps, sexual arousal....
3.
Images on the Rack of Night
She
tugged him away from the party,
Smiling
intimately to draw him on.
"Come,"
she breathed, and led the way to her tower chamber.
There,
she drew him down to her moist warmth.
He
entered with a cry and she surged with him
Moaning,
closing her eyes, and tossing her head,
But
when his hand strayed silently
From
her straining buttocks to his silver dagger,
Her
eyes opened.
She
pinned him with her gaze
And
drained him like a glass of wine.
She
shuddered with hypersexual ecstacy,
Then
shrugged off his now-inconsequential weight
And
rolled over, but at first made no move to rise.
4.
Convergence
The
gryphon's head turns to regard her,
But
there is nothing in the glance she can read.
She
reaches out haltingly, as if to touch it.
Her
hand sinks into the screen.
The
gryphon lunges too swiftly for her to draw back:
Its
bite is ice.
Its
bite is fire.
She
throws back her head and screams like a falcon.
5.
Apex
The
assassin gave nothing away, yet she knew him.
He
would not strike where they could be observed,
So
she made sure she stayed with the group,
Though
it meant touring the garden several times
Before
the party started.
The
Voice within would tell her when it was time to act.
Already,
she was thirsty.
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