Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Phantasmagoria ....(2)
If there is any trepidation tonight, it is only that she is not here and that these hours will pass in vacuous venality till such time that her fingers text a message to let me know her intent and the state of her being.
I can only hope she has slept well and is not groggy or light-headed from the delay affecting her sleep pattern from last night. Will she wake with a smile on her lips, or will the heaviness that a lack of sleep can cause will coerce her towards insidious imprecation?
Apart from these there is a strange calm in the air tonight. A mysterious hush that perhaps the soul has missed for such a long time. Despite the passionate exchange of stimulus that she so naturally induces, she is the one who pacifies the aggressor and the wronged in any conflict situation. With me she has shown particular patience, otherwise who woos someone that is so obviously indifferent.
Stale-mouthed kisses in the pre-dawn cerulean-grey sky, the darkness clothing our naked forms. The bed-sheets are already crumpled from the excursions of the evening that has passed. It is as if these were banners to announce our successful and safe return to base. Now all that remains is the final thrust to the summit. Somewhere, not so far away there is the gentle breathing of the lover who cannot describe what it is between us, and rightly so, for the unconditional love we seek is not always describable in formulae or dissertation. As I explain to her, Love is an Absolute, like any other Absolute, it thrives on completeness - mind, body and soul.
I marvel at how well our curves fit, how snugly when we lie next to each other every cardioid pattern of her body and mine in harmonious expiation seeks its own shape. My hands hold her face up to mine, even as she protests being woken up so without warning and being asked to finish what an amateur had started. Stale-mouthed kisses at the very time the brahmmuhurat is passing, a gentle fondling in the dark to inveigle her into intimate incursions.
I cannot ignore the animal-like magnetism in her eyes, the come hither look that she flashes in parsimonious currency to the selected few who can satiate her - hers to chose whom to bestow upon the favours of an eternal paradise.
Stale-mouthed kisses.....the osculating of her lips, pressed and parted by the movement and the squirming under the onslaught of suggestion and devices of seduction. Licking her was always the best possible option she could have wrought. The lapping tongue neatly gathers the trails like a woodman gathers firewood in his hands before depositing it on another trestle.
And since this is what remains to be described, we will unveil the piece left us by the afternoon - till then the stale-mouthed kisses would have scrubbed and foregone their present condition and become a pared and parceled set for her smile to enhance.
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