As soft as a rose petal, your cheek. I’d talk about your eyes, but mine are closed, and I can’t see you that way, not because I can’t, but because I want to keep them closed. I’m certain the blue moon light coming through the mist filled atmosphere is glinting softly from their shiny surface. I’m sure your hair is a blend of night, shadow, and the palest of moon beam. I’m fairly convinced your skin contrasts against the white sheets as if you were a work of art in a museum, hidden in the basement where only the privileged and rich are allowed to go. How rich I am, though, to just touch you tonight.
I feel your hair, soft, yet held in place like a doll’s. I feel your eyebrows, how odd I hardly notice them, and when I do they seem so small, but under my fingertips, they are long, arched, and relaxed. I imagine calm on your face, but maybe it is something more, soft ecstasy? Your chin, smooth, round, and your lips, firm, yet giving, perfect for kissing.
I place a hand behind your neck, and another on your waist. I can smell your just washed body; soap and minerals, as if you had bathed in a clean river and walked on dry stones to lay down by my side. I like the smell of your breath, still drenched in sweet wine, and clean, like your skin. Your kisses are sweet, but I want to taste more of you.
Your neck, your arms, your fingertips, soapy, but worth it, because your little convulsions let me know that my love is waking all of you up. And I want all of you to be awake. Your belly, how I love to devour you there, and then, your legs, already moving, like a bicycle being peddled, anticipating… more.
Then, as natural as ocean water on a stormy day, clean, brisk, saline, I devour you, drink you up, losing myself in your wetness and smoothness and pleadings for more, less, more, less, more… But here, as you throw fingers into my hair, and reach down to feel my shoulders, I smile. I can’t help it. I’m seeing you in my mind, so lost in the natural, and so wild, yet you find time to caress me with your fingers, on my forehead, my ears, as if your love had to have a chance to speak too. And it does.
When it’s over, it isn’t really over, and that is so different from the others. Because as we lay under the cool breeze coming from the window, so welcome against our sweating skin, I realize I’m still connected to you. Holding hands, there’s an electric current between us, wild, raging, and yet calmed by form and skin and bone to a soft thumping of our heartbeats.
Time seems to slip by at such a slow pace, I can hardly feel it anymore. All I feel is this oneness, the kind poets and writers glorify or eulogize. A oneness that I know is there even when our hands no longer touch. I guess such things are real after all.
As time seeps back into our existence, I begin to notice the chirping of the tree frogs in the forest behind the house. I can hear the traffic, the tires shushing on the mist laden pavement. I can see the blue moon light, dancing between the leaves at the top of the oak trees outside our window. A night bird is singing.
Next to me, your breathing, slowing down, and then you softly say, “I love you.”
Lightning in my soul.
My mind burns. Bacteria, coming together, merging, splitting, wordless… Little sea slugs, entwining, letting go, wordless… Fish, fins climbing beaches, to ponds, flashing flickering sunlight, attracting, flirting, spawning, then leaving, wordless… From the depths of a new and wild ocean, great amphibians, coming up, signaling, wordless promises, mating, nesting, leaving, wordless… Birds, gurgling songs, wild gyrations, pairing up, sharing warmth, feeding young, looking at each other, so lost when one dies; I saw a robin morn the death of its mate through a library window, once, it broke my heart, yet in their parting, different, there was no singing, just silence and that awful wordlessness… And from cats to prairie dogs to wolves to baboons, their signs and grunts and emotions so close to the surface, almost human, but not quite. Then you, my love, laying across from me, holding my hand, saying what all of nature, from the primordial dark past, to the present, have wanted to thoroughly understand; and through words, I speak, and feel a billion years of life, saying with me, gratefully, “I love you too.”