Argonaut

She places her right hand against his chest. The long plane of his sternum fills her palm with presence - with the striving wings of ascending birds, the pounding breath of steam engines, the roar and rush of waterfalls, the vivid locomotion of heart and lungs - it fills her palm with... life.

She wraps her left hand around his neck, twining her fingers into the hair at the base of his skull. She tightens her fingers with each inhalation, each exhalation, pulling him closer - feeling in their bodies the epic pulse of radio tower lights. Silent they stand, signaling into the sky - simultaneously warning and inviting - aeroplanes, bats, moths! - crash into me/don't crash into me.

She presses her lips to his neck and breathes deep. Rain on hot pavement, the rich loam of fresh turned earth, the sun and salt kissed skin of swimmers, the hushed scent of sleep warmed beds, sweet honeysuckle and the bite of burdock. She breathes - intoxicated by the himness of him. She places his hands around her hips, slides them to her waist - willing him to traverse this landscape. She is of the mountains, craggy, rolling, verdant - secret with hollows, tree roots, streams and brambles. Her heart is a red bird hiding, watchful and silent, in the underbrush. It is brilliant. It is built for flight.

She unbuttons the top button of his shirt - fingers stinging and shaking from the shock of his bare skin. She strokes the place just below the hollow of his throat. She worships this diamond of skin. She is prostrate before it, she is breathless, she is light headed, she is bright. It is sacred, it is volcanic, it is ravishing, it is right. It is the only part of him she will ever have.

She closes her eyes, holds her breath, counts to ten. She opens her eyes. She is alone.