Melchizedek

His name was Salemn, and its meaning was Prince of God, a peaceful sound, a solemn sound. He had curly hair that sat upon his clavicle, buckled around itself, like clouds. I first saw him in a dream, like words hanging in the atmosphere, shaped like the stars that form a constellation, spelling solemnity and quietude. His voice was gentle as the morning and evening sea, but I saw him as a wet lion, drenched at the paws.

I fell in love deeply. He had an arousing figure. His words were sweet and undeceiving. He stood erect as a building, compact and fit together as the towers upon ten Rocks. A mountainman was he, strong, sheepherder, and indescribable. ‘I must have him’, and so thought I, that another shall never taste nor see him as do I. Indeed he is and was mine, for I pity the emptiness of the universe without him. Oh how he causeth the time to pass as though there were not another second to count. Education is null here, for to fools, he is a figment, though utterly untouchable to them, and not to myself. Salemn was 33 years old, and I was 27.

Salemn had many names, but this was my favorite. It made his lips appealing. He sounded like a kiss, well flavored and incredibly moist; better than bread, the staff of life. He was noble, ancient, and essential. When he is away, I crave him in my soul. And what shall I do for a chance with him? Shall I scream out in prayer, or inflict harm where harm is not? Shall I remember him in my thoughts and wait patiently? Shall I toss him an olive? Shall I write him a letter?

Melchizedek, Melchizedek, wherefore art thou Melchizedek? O my king, let me plead for thee until I have tasted of thy heavenly fruit.

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