her

“Show me that trick, the one you did before,” she said.
“Which one?”
“The one that makes me laugh.” She threw her arms around my neck. “Show me how you do it.”
“Are you ready?”

I pulled her in close by the shoulder. I am about to lose everything. As soon as our lips touched she opened hers, our tongues dancing in the dark hollows of our mouths. Fantasy became reality, sound and vision became flesh and blood, and with shaking hands and beating hearts I breathed her air. I touched her skin. I noticed her eyes were honest.

That night I heard her sing carnal tunes to me in perfect pitch. It bathed me so that I had the urge to roll around on the floor with it and hold it in my arms, climax in my head with it. Even our sentences fit perfectly; words separated by just the right amount of silence for each thought to pass and be absorbed. She told me how much she loved me with that voice. I heard stories that will take my entire life to tell.

Throughout, I took deep breaths to force myself further into her, so that my sighs didn’t pool in my heart. It is different for a man. We are ultimately driven by a sexual desire that defines all our relationships. This isn't to say that we aren’t able to completely appreciate the women we are with, but it is that sexual energy that binds us in the end. I'll admit it.

But even so, her fears were unfounded. She did not understand how I could love without standards, without comparisons or ideals. Because she was the standard, the comparison. She was the ideal.

I recall the first time we met. She had her hair up and wore a plain face that became beautiful when she laughed, like joy epitomised. When she laughed her torso bucked forward so carelessly and she stood up as if her happiness could not be contained by a sitting posture. When she arose, I discovered the contours of her body, then barely noticeable in those semi-loose clothes, now reserved only for me.

The longer we spent together, the more intoxicated I became of her. I began to notice when her breaths parted the air around her face. I saw that she liked to smell fruit before tasting it. She waited for you before she started to eat. I learned that she herself tasted of peaches, that she moved like a jazz bass line. Sunset and sunrise stopped defining my days; I set my clock to her contact.

And so that night, our frequencies flowed together in an obscene rhythm. We did not break eye contact. She astonished me with her eyes, dark and rich, the gravity of her spirit so enormous that light could not escape. She could not see her glow, or hear her softness, but I could, every minute I was with her. That night we crossed a magical threshold where her scent revealed itself to me as I felt her. We were a precise fit, spines and hip bones a picture of perfect alignment. She said my name over and over and we drifted off to sleep.

I am about to lose everything, because love has no pride.


2011-08-26.6:21 p.m.
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