Grail

In words, or voice, in person or in my mind, circumstances matter little; understanding means everything. It needs only last a second, less, but the impression it leaves behind is a grail that quenches no thirst. It holds memories, and memories of memories. A single autumn drop from it turns my tongue to gold.

—

When I create images in my mind, it is as if I am bringing a razor blade to bear on the silhouette of my thoughts.

By candlelight, I take you. I give you to the bed, a naked offering on flesh-colored sheets. Your eyes are closed when I first touch you, a laying of hands that find the back of your thighs. Curled fingers draw your weight slowly back, pulling you onto your knees but leaving your head against the cool surface of the bed.

You have become a supplicant.

Have you ever been explored? There is vulnerability in the acceptance and intimacy in the act. Small scars are kissed, lines are traced. There are no blemishes, just defining details on the carnal canvas being painted in the seduction of my senses. Did you think I was here for you? No, even this worship of your body is for myself. I will consume you, my hands will know you well enough to take you in my dreams. Your scent will adhere to my hunger and you will not escape me a second time.

I kiss the small of your back. Your arching body is a sculpture in motion. Lower, each kiss, lower, until I can feel your heat against my face.

I part lips.