Wednesday, 11 January 2006


I am awake. The house is almost silent, creaking a little as it cools, and the atmosphere is heavy, still. I stare up as I listen to my lover's breathing, soft and even as she sleeps. Rolling onto my side I watch her, my love, in all her glory. She is peaceful and at ease, her face relaxed. Eyebrows arched and fine, long lashes fluttering with her breathing. My eyes caress her face as they slide from her eyes to her cheeks, her high cheekbones, her pink soft lips, and down her long neck. Her skin is soft and smooth, I remember its touch and my lips part with the memory.

She is on her side, her arm thrown casually over the bedclothes as is her leg. I watch the side of a breast rythmically rising, falling, and trace the line of her body as it curves into her waist then flares out to her hip. So soft, feminine, only a woman can look so vulnerable yet powerfully sensual. Her gorgeous backside is pert and as she moves my eyes are drawn to the shadow between her legs. I suck it in hungry for more, now looking at her leg as it stretches from her bent at the knee, tapering from her jutting hip to her fine ankle, noting the shadows of her muscles along the way. I try to tear my eyes away but they are drawn to her back, the play of light and shadow highlighting the many small muscles. In fact the light from outside gleams on her silken skin, her fine hairs glowing gold.

I look, I see, and my heart is breaking. She is beautiful. I savour this transient moment before time and age take us, this witching hour where love and sadness are sisters. She is my best friend and my lover. I reach out to her then draw my hand back; sleep well my love, let not my breaking heart mar your slumber.


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