A trilogy of seasons and a love in so many words
The sky reminds me that summer is falling, through a rain that rustles and curls at the edges; much like a sun coming undone because it suddenly went too eager for skin to quench, and then tumbling, with the abandon of leaves, onto the sizzling foundation of thirst. Yes, the ground, or the body; reminding me that fall is ascending, in that smell of ripeness, too heavily impatient to wait for the harvest, and billowing up, and up, and up, till it catches the wind; much like lust, collapsed under its own weight, and then rising, rising…
I sit up in bed, sense tousled, gasping for words; not combed-forward lyricisms, covering denials of spring gone wintry, but words of love; of a love like summer falling, like rain that rustles, like hands curling at the edges because they converge with the substance of my eagerness; words of a love that sizzles like skin touched; of a love like words that are, in essence, not only touch, handfuls of it, but mouthfuls of taste, and you in eyefuls, and my ripeness collapsing on its back and then billowing up, and up, and up, arms, and breasts, and lips, and… and what?
Ah yes, words of love; of a love as lusty and natural as natural creatures in season, as this season of fall naturally ascending till it catches the wind and the wind strips it bare. The wind, reminding me of us after love has been made; collapsed and yet swept up, still spiralling. Yes, like a poem, consummated; stripped bare of words, tousled… and still gasping.
-- © 2008 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®