Dancing in the Fountains of Fire

Come with me, down the dusty pavement, when the air is still, and the birds are snuggling up in the growing shadows of the tree limbs above us.  A fire fly shows the way, green shooting star, through the barbed-wire, strung loosely and easy to slide through.   Is it odd that I love the cool feel of the rusty metal in my hand, as you pass underneath the arch I’ve created?  It leaves red chalkiness on my hands, but a wipe on my blue jeans makes it all right for me. 

Do you see it yet, the thousand glowing fuzzy seed heads of the fountain grasses only about a hundred feet in front of us?  The last of the red autumn sun makes them glow like molten steel.  How vibrant, and yet how muted it is, this scene, in the pasture, you beside me, the smell of your denim jacket, wafting towards me on little rabbit breaths.  A puff lifts some of your hair, and I fight back the urge to kiss you there.  

Here we are, the sweet smells of grass and grains, and that autumn dryness, settling over us like the orange light, dimming into the bluish haze drifting down from the knolls above us, rolling down like soft smoke from a camp fire.  The shadows turn bluer and darker in the trees at the edges of the field.  And a chill runs through me.  I go on guard, protecting you, in my mind, with my very life, so easy to do because that is who I am, and how much I love you.

What can I give the person that took my shattered heart and healed it with devotion and love?  I don’t know, but I worry about showing you how I feel, my love.  Instead, I smile and take your arm, swing you around, and dance with you, under the beginning of twilight and stars sneaking a peek at us through the hazy sky above.  The light is softer now, more blue than orange, and the fountain grass has become brown and silver, but it still shimmers.  I feel like we are dancing in fire, held, paused, between smoke and burning. 

 

Twirl and twirling, swirl and swirling, round and around, and my heart lifts with a joy, as we eat up this morsel of bliss.  Out of breath, now, I’d like to take you down, but those dark edges give me pause, and with childish glee, we nervously exit the field, and there is the anticipation of dancing with you in the house.  But we go in, and phones buzz, texts come, and we separate into our high-tech worlds, until, I throw mine into the drawer in the table by the couch, and pull yours from your hand…

You know.  I see it in your eyes.  They dance, a smouldering fire, dryer than the one outside, but more alive than the sun.  A little kiss.  Then another.  And another.  A little longer.  And the taste of your breath, copper, iron, adrenaline, comes and fills my head with blinding white heat.  Before I am totally lost in loving you, I smell the fountain grass and oak leaves on your denim jacket.  You don’t know how sexy you are at this moment, how alive you are to me, how alive I am to myself.  You don’t know, and that is okay, because if you knew, if you knew…. 

 

I am so rich.  So very rich.  I almost feel sorry for the poor, the poor who never dance in the fountains of fire under the stars, or feel love on their lips as well as passion.  My love for you is idolatry, because I love you as much as I love God.  And I’ve never felt that way before.   But here comes the heat again, the white heat, and hunger, so deep.  I feel my fingers plunge hard into the cushions of the couch.  I nearly tear them apart, but on your beautiful face, my lips softly slide against yours, and I pour into my kisses all the love I can, because inside of my heart is a fountain, a fountain I have never shared with anyone but you.

 

Dear one, let us dance again, and again, and again….

 

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