![]() His hands stroking her ears, his forearms to either side of her shoulders, like the forepaws of a hound. Stomach to stomach, mouth on mouth, his feet across her shins and wrapped under her feet.And apples, he thought, the white flesh and its faint pinkness. She was clean but she smelled of herself, something like new hay with flowers still in it, and something greener, sharper nettles in the cut hay. And then he would take her in his arms, burying his face in her neck, and trying to identify all the different smells of her. In the little death, he bent to kiss her and wake her with a kiss, so that her eyes opened sleepily, and she smiled at him. Sometimes she opened her mouth to breathe, and he felt the breath of her on him, the way Adam must have felt God breathing first life into his sleeping body. Then he would hover his hand over the outline of her face, never touching her, but sensing with wonder, how his hand in the cold air could feel the warmth coming off her face. He liked to draw his hand out from under the warm sheet, and into the cold air of the bedroom. ![]() ![]() ![]() The one inside me had no string of guiding lights.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |