Shadowlands and Solar flares

In the Shadowlands the moonlight is the truth of my soul
When the Solar flares, the sunlight is the mirror of my world

Sunday, February 12, 2012

happy valentines day

tonight the walls were like megaphones. he covered his eyes, eventhough it was pitch black. his ears were full, stuffed tight and deep into their canal. his mind raced with thoughts of mundane things, weaved together into blankets of white noise. and then the awkward rhythm and primal sounds stopped and grace fell upon the moment. he knew dues had been paid for deeds that grew from a conspiracy of impulses. and hearts would be heavy. he was grateful for the natural silence, unforced, unshrouded.with his chest held tight, he opened his ears to the air, intently listening for the percussion of flesh against wood. eighty six steps down the hallway. a perfect measure of time. his breath expelled at the sound of the latching door. eighty six steps down the hall. his tension eased as he heard her fill the tub, water lapping at the porcelain. he smiled, imagining the warmth it would bring her body. he understood how cold flesh could be, even in the friction of passion. it was a joy to him that she would bathe the stain away. a lesser womon would shower, quickly, intently. she would lose patience and scrub her skin with intolerance. but his goddess would redeem herslf slowly, deliberately. now he could crawl easily to the wall and press his ear against her world. the barrier would melt away and the whimsy of her bath play would become opera to his ear. tender, bitter, and poignant. now his eyelids could close gently like falling snow flakes, and the cacophony within his mind would dissipate into the melodic waves of water caressing her flesh. she was deliberate about her playful celebration. he was untethered now, as if muscle and bone had divorced. he had become a slave to a stillness an ascetic would envy. he was now devoted to every bit of energy she created, committed to turning every breathe he took into an act of love. the room flashed light and he was swept away by the potency of the universe in flux. every wave, every particle was devoted to her. blind, senseless, he became acutely aware of the rolling topography of her body. every drop of liquid within him became a kin to every rivelet of water that traced her flesh. he ascended every valley and crest. he undulated across every peak and swale, tasting her with the only sense that wasn't forbidden. his lungs become hers, to draw and release at will. within every rise of her breast and each fall of her belly, he lived and died. within a blanket of silence, he heard her soften. he could feel the hunger in her, the intentness. for all that she had given, she had not given what was her most divine moment. her momentary dalliance could not justify her succumbing to a man who sweated, and muttered, and required flattery for acts uninspired. with an elegance and adroitness only she could command, the ballet began. and his euphoria would be broken by envy. it was chivalry that pulled his ear from the wall. he could not bear an imposition into her bliss. his deliberate walk across the room took a century. and her zenith disappeared with the closing of a teary eye.

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