In the middle of the beginning
The LED floodlights next door cast blue light through the curtains, an illumination as cold as the air coming from the wall unit below the window. The bed was warm, like the smile of the beauty in it. If the light of that smile could be transformed into illumination the room would be lit like a tropical beach, warm and inviting. Even without emitting lumens, her beauty still brought light and warmth, the energy of her soul making it cozy. Her kiss still lingered on my lips, tingling and salty with the brine of kalamata olives. Her hair fanned out across the pillow as though she had been left on the bed by a wave, the dark ringlets inviting like the gloaming shadows under evergreens. Her grace in repose was another invitation completely, the allure of her presented to me as a mystery to be investigated. I knelt on the bed, a supplicant offering veneration at the temple of a goddess, moving to a union of bodies tangled in joy.
In the afterglow, laughter came first, then the words. Unbridled, my tongue rambled in circles of love, weaving past and present into a wreath that changed the room as it took shape. Oblivious to the changing of the temperature, the words spilled out, leaving sedges growing in their wake. Desire reclaimed us, the warmth returning to us both, taking shape in new forms, new words, new experiences. After, in quiet conversation, I thought that I heard fears, and my heart spoke words of comfort, made pledges that I knew that I would want to hear. The words flagged, their purpose not being served, and my heart sent more, because if fewer words of love don't serve to comfort then surely more will shore them up. My heart mistranslated so many things in this new experience, clueless to what was being heard from what it presented to the universe.
We came together again, our energy and shared love culminating like waves rolling to their end ashore. So kind, her soul, that she still offered me her love, her passion, her joy, the comfort of her beside me through the night. I woke several times to find her somnolent but restless, her mind and heart in struggle with the words that I had offered, my words less comforting than disquieting. I luxuriated in the comfort of holding her while we talked, exhaustion forming a fog making everything more difficult to process. The sun found us entwined again, a last coupling to hold fast to what we had started the evening with, but the morning after passed in quiet. The words had changed things by the time we parted.
The words, dropped like stones into a pool of warmth and comfort, produced ripples that I cannot predict. My heart and my head have communed with my soul to recognize the errors in translation, but our words are still carefully chosen now. The love remains unphased and solid as a force of nature, but how we interact with it now will evolve, as lovers do. My soul remains true to the words, to the pledge, to the love in whatever form it takes, the seed grown taller and faster than we expected. My heart remains vigilant to its place in the garden, to the other redwoods that tower there, honoring their place and their primacy. My joy remains a fire fueled by hope, but the twilight presses in this newly discovered landscape, and I do not know the way.
In the afterglow, laughter came first, then the words. Unbridled, my tongue rambled in circles of love, weaving past and present into a wreath that changed the room as it took shape. Oblivious to the changing of the temperature, the words spilled out, leaving sedges growing in their wake. Desire reclaimed us, the warmth returning to us both, taking shape in new forms, new words, new experiences. After, in quiet conversation, I thought that I heard fears, and my heart spoke words of comfort, made pledges that I knew that I would want to hear. The words flagged, their purpose not being served, and my heart sent more, because if fewer words of love don't serve to comfort then surely more will shore them up. My heart mistranslated so many things in this new experience, clueless to what was being heard from what it presented to the universe.
We came together again, our energy and shared love culminating like waves rolling to their end ashore. So kind, her soul, that she still offered me her love, her passion, her joy, the comfort of her beside me through the night. I woke several times to find her somnolent but restless, her mind and heart in struggle with the words that I had offered, my words less comforting than disquieting. I luxuriated in the comfort of holding her while we talked, exhaustion forming a fog making everything more difficult to process. The sun found us entwined again, a last coupling to hold fast to what we had started the evening with, but the morning after passed in quiet. The words had changed things by the time we parted.
The words, dropped like stones into a pool of warmth and comfort, produced ripples that I cannot predict. My heart and my head have communed with my soul to recognize the errors in translation, but our words are still carefully chosen now. The love remains unphased and solid as a force of nature, but how we interact with it now will evolve, as lovers do. My soul remains true to the words, to the pledge, to the love in whatever form it takes, the seed grown taller and faster than we expected. My heart remains vigilant to its place in the garden, to the other redwoods that tower there, honoring their place and their primacy. My joy remains a fire fueled by hope, but the twilight presses in this newly discovered landscape, and I do not know the way.