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By Galadrial Date: 2001 Oct 14 Comment on this Work [[2001.10.14.23.35.20535]] |
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The nights are gone to cooler now, and I uncovered the last half cord of the last season's wood--- apple and pear, to scent the loft, mixing with the sweet cedar. I air the feather bed, and the ticks, fluff the pillows and unfold the linens, and wait for you. A classic fall day--- the carmina burana filling the air, and each note feeds something else inside me. My cheeks are gone to ruddy, and I hear the tires on gravel, but it please me to pretend that I did not notice. You enter in silence, and I turn my back to you, unconcerned, forcing myself to nonchalance I reach up, and start to pull loose the pins that hold the chestnut fall. You breathe hard, and I shake loose my hair, knowing you can see, and a moment later feel your face buried deep in it, catching the scent as your arms go around my waist and pull me close. No words yet--- and I turn in your arms bury my face in your neck, and smell the innocence of soap, and under it, the scent I know for you, dear god, how I missed that, and your taste. I pull at your shirt, mindless of the buttons, wanting to glaze my tongue chin to neck, almost biting your chest in pure hunger. And as always, words are nothing--- you need only to touch me, to know exactly what where how much and when to take me to delicious completion, in the main room before the fireplace, in this season of plenty, in this place of ours the Harvest Ridge. |