She is beside me, warm flesh bristling the tiny hairs on the back of my hand. She is breathing so lightly. I can taste her body, as if her fragrance is part of the air I breathe. Her luminous breasts rise firm from a small plane. Her rosebud nipples are like firm buds. I raise a hand to lightly brush one and sense a quiver enfold her body. It feels like powdered sugar, and the sweetness makes me water. My fingers rise again to soothe the pale skin surrounding the small peak. This tender petal is my delight; full of life, so incredibly alive, and here, cast in a moonlit path, in full view, waiting for my mouth to melt its spicy demeans.
My lips are moist as I depart from restraint and bend to swallow a single pink bud. Like a kiss and a breath combined to create a soothing message for my lips to indulge as my tongue slips restlessly over frozen hot water; I quiver. Once in a state of serenity, my breath is now staggered. I fall fast to satin-peach sheets below, awaiting the return of control.
My eyes, however, have not jolted from their original frame. The hypnotising rise and fall of the peak I awoke for a second beckons for return. In the drowning moonlight, I am tranced. Traces of where I have been play havoc with my senses. Moisture still clings to her skin; moisture I have recessed in my reservoir waiting to fill another place, sometime.
One is not always left spoken for, however. I leave my plane and travel to an opaque ravine. As if by instinct, my right hand rises from the safety of its own cradle to slip a finger down the delicate flesh of her torso. I am engulfed. I am in timeless surrender. My palm flattens my hand to obtain the full warmth and design hidden behind this door.
I find the curve of a hill followed by a smooth valley, and linger in this field. Not far beyond, a full garden of roses entices my flooded santuary to come in. I follow the small path to a spring of sparking dew. With my hand, I reach down to touch the warm essence, inducing small currents and soon waves are splashing beyond the pool.
I hear a soft voice from behind a wall of climbing grapes. It whispers my name, urging me to ascend. With ease, I slip through a satin screen and climb to the top of the wall. I straddle the wall and leap into the garden below. Immediately, I am surrounded by humid heat, urging me to press on.
When I open them, I see waves and the blue of an ocean beating the shore. A woman holds a single rose, and with one hand outstretched, offers me her soul. I run faster. I beat the sand with my bare feet. I can take the ravenous heat no longer. With a cry, I begin to fall. All time has elapsed. All space is no longer. Visions of dark, black, and the spring spin in my mind.
I feel the sand beneath me and the waves lapping my outstretched arm. I open my eyes and realize I am alive. Time passes, and I don't know how much. I being to move again, my aching body coming to life. The sand scratches at my feet and clings irritably to my lips. I have risen enough to stable myself on one arm. The wind offers a soothing breeze, picking up pieces of sand and soul. I reach my hand to the wind and catch a piece of something being tossed in the air.
A single petal has escaped its domain. Vibrant berry and luscious lemon on a platter of cream. You've sucked my essence and touched my palette with your wild splashes and silky nature. Others like I will breathe your sweet life and your excitement condemned to grow and live on a thorny bush.
© Dana Haley, 1993
Journal Art Music Resume