mike

Light, low and dim, flickers like sweet indecision. It’s barely there, unsteady rays that take to lining their faces, accentuating the angles. Sweat, heavenly exertion, glints in the soft glow, and muscles tremble with such exhaustion. She lies curled in his arms, relishing a connection beyond what they had so recently indulged in.

He’s talking to her, though any listener wouldn’t be able to discern his words, as he makes these declarations with lips, breathing devotion through touches. His kisses are gentle, a gift to her; they are thank you’s, and you’re welcome’s, and I love you’s. And it surrounds them, predatory silence, like the two lovers fear it might get taken away at any moment.

So, they make their vows now, while they are covered in the products of their own debauchery, fucked-out and savoring a different sort of embrace. While her hair wisps in the draft of cool air, and while his palm cradles the back of her head. She’s quivering, holding fast to his neck, locks tangled in her fingers, and they are folding into one another.

He surrounds her, and she him. He dwells in the crook of her neck, and she hides in the shell of his ear. He is opening her up, and she is doing the same to him; until there are no divides, no separations. They are fitted together, nothing but bone, sinew, blood and essence. He drinks up her tears, and they become his nectar.

He rubs the base of her spine, soothing circles, as they taste each other on their tongues. They cannot find where one person ends and the other begins, for they have been interwoven long before this corporeality. She whimpers into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, suckling on her bottom lip in return. That is the nature of this position—exchange. There is no attempt to move further, to prolong the scene, only the repayment for such euphoria.

Light, low and dim, flickers like sweet indecision. They are not awake and not asleep; they are souls, twining, meeting each other in the aftermath. She is sculpted for him, just as he is crafted for her. They are of the same, swapping kisses in their fatigue, sex only a fraction of all the entanglement their existence holds. He draws two fingertips over her cheekbone, and she knows she is home.

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