Sweet Rust

It is excessively warm. Sweaty warm. I lean on the wall and leave behind a glaring pink-orange-red streak of rust.

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Lick the rust off your fingertips. I have been leaving behind too many fingerprints. Traceable back to unique me. And they stare back at me from the oddest of place. There are rust-stains on my jeans where I had wiped the sweat off my hand.

The smell of rust wafted from my fingertips. Nauseating, but allurring all the same. I tasted it gingerly. It was a mixture of that tingling taste of sweat, the musty blood taste of iron and a rare sweet taste - like putrid jaggery. A heady winey mix.

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I licked my fingers again. Finger lickin good. I closed my eyes and can see sweet pink rust. Two-dimensional candyfloss