“Wildest Dreams” by Swift, Taylor from 1989
The electric hiss
The jolt of neurons spiking with the sudden heat of erotic memory
The machine fills the room with a rattling hum
(or perhaps a humming rattle)
But he is already too gone to notice.
She’s there again with him, as he remembers her
As he remembers himself
They told him the machine can’t imitate smells
But then why is his nose filled with the smell of her hair
Of her skin
Her overheated skin, quickly growing dewy in his hands
Her delicate hands, somehow everywhere on him all at once.
Her tongue, her teeth, her nails, her lips, her breath
The cycle stops
The images recede
And she’s gone again.
He lays in the darkness, skin cooling.
He shakes as everything empties out of him,
As reality becomes memory once again.
He is alone.
She is gone.
There is only the machine
And the memories dressed up as dreams