| Talk to me. Talk to me of balls and candles and pussy cats and bright things with mittens. Talk to me of starlit skies awash with purple aprons, thunder gleaming. Speak to me of the little things, the pretty things, blue things and red. Talk to me of the hounds. Sky bright, shifting. Wreaths of moorland caught in dim and distant golden glow. Clouds smeared, dark shadows croaking. A haze hums, sparking on skin, candy on teeth. Prickles on back; a groan, a sigh, a noise of contentment. Warm depressions in grass, follow me true. She gasps in awe at the splendour, clapping her hands in delight, a child ethereal in the oneness of being, existence taking pleasure in itself. The warmth pervasive, all scents intoxicating. I leaned over, cradling my head onto the Jackal's naked chest and feeling his hair on my skin. He grumbled peacefully, right arm thrown up behind his head. His left hand stroked my lower back unconsciously. I could feel his sleepy, purely physical, simple pleasure in the texture of my skin under his fingers. His energies flickered and trembled minutely, reminding me of those other energies but more subtle. Too much intensity for one aslumber. Yet it was only natural for him. I traced a finger along the line between his sternum and navel, entranced by the way his surface pattern responded. Ripples on glass. Vortices and currents of energy sucked and pulled at the very edges of my sensitivity. The keen blade of the structure in him was bright, sharp and hot like ice. It hurt to look too closely and yet I could not find it ugly. I thought then that an angel's skeleton might look like that, too bright to view but beautiful inside the eyes. His power was exhilarating, wild and dazzling even as he slept. With nothing but mindfulness my finger trace became my whole hand, fingers pushing out, smoothing across his stomach, his pattern sparkling and liquid like oil. Talk to me. Talk to me of goodness, of the good things, the joyful things. Talk to me of silken textures brought home from dreaming. Talk to me of shimmering shoals shattering darkness. Talk to me of the deep breath. Tell me true. I breathed softly, not moving, lips almost but not quite touching him, enjoying the sensation of the desire to kiss, to be kissed. My fingers, my hand, shifted, merging, the physical feeling of touch fading to sinking. Speak. All is one. The brightness sings. We meet, we touch. Islands in a storm. He moved, right hand coming round, drawing me closer. His nose brushed my head, breathing deep. Strong arms pulled me tighter. I couldn't resist the intermingling of my pattern with his. I could feel him in my eyes, deep within my ears, in the ends of my collar bones, my sternum, the tips of my pelvis, my pubis. I could no longer tell if he were waking or I were falling asleep. The smell of him, oh Gods the smell of him. Musk and cedar, something mineral, browns shredded with bronze and silver, texture of dusty chocolate on the tongue. Speak. You are the glimmer in the dark. Breathe. We breathed. His hand drifted up, tilted my chin towards his face. He kissed me. The amber motes in his eyes drifted dreamily. Back to back we stand in love and trust. A pillar of strength in the wilderness. "You are beautiful," he murmured. "We both are," I whispered, heart aching in the perfection of the moment. We breathed. |
Copyright Samantha Fleming, 2004. All rights reserved.