#clarinewrites

‘By the pale mother...” her words were  breathy gasp of promises wordlessly spoken, of summer nights holding the throbbing heat of the day, and of gentle spring rains.  Her lover was smooth against her, their bodies intertwining like vines, decadent, breathless heady with jasmine and pleasure...There.  Rolling back into the grass the young woman could feel her lovers heat, their syrupy sap streaked thighs and cores becomming one, their grinding just a rustling of limbs in the clearing. “We shouldn’t...ah...” she gasped, her words lost to her lovers chuckles, as suddenly, she was in bloom.