Three hours had passed and yet it seemed three days. She did not come. She did not call. It was as if he had plunged off the side of a cliff and she just kept walking. His skin felt heavy. Like a wet coat. His beard growing in weeds, a briar to match the thorns of his past, of flowers and thorns, of the thorn flower he wished he still had.He reached for paper. Reached for ink. And one sat beside the other stone mute. And this is where she found him the next day. His face as blank as the paper. His blood as still as the ink. His thoughts as lost as the bracelet of a little girl dropped down a well. Until she slapped him. Her hand a map upon his face and what came forth, came as orgasm unutterable, his shame unleashed as nature unleashes the bowel, as a woman unleashes a man.
Em listened in the way a cave listens to the ocean, wet with wicked waves of tongue, lashed with words wanton as whiskey. Together the pain intoxicated, conspiring in the tell, complicit in the listen. His words rolled forth on breath both sweet and enticing, eidolons salacious, leather burnished, arms and legs spread and secured. His neck craned in the memory. His veins bulging like inverted purple rivers and what was pale became poppy red.
A rain of fist. Unable to sit. Her hands, her bosom, that red hair protecting him, the bathing, washing, tucking, holding, touching. It all came out. She had succored him, held him soft and hard, dry and wet, minds locked, caressing his neurons, a private Chatelaine. From death to life, from darkness to light, from sodomy to her, her eyes, her lips, her healing heat, a pillow of flesh fresh with bath, gentle primrose clean as a new day. She was the rain and the rainbow. The mother and the lover. The salvation of his virginity.
6 comments:
I sit here imagining what the graph would look like were I hooked up to a machine that read physical reactions, quickening heartbeat, surprise, anguish and such like. To read you is not simple to read but to live, to live through your words, not in the manner as it sounds, to live their actions so to speak, but to be so affected by the words, by the emotions within, by the turns and movement, the happenings within, that the scene being witnessed in life could hardly conjure a response as real or great. You may and do forever bestow one astonishingly descriptive sentence after another, animated and eloquent and infinitely stirring and yet the experience is never any less intense, the wonder at how rich the imagery is, how direct the conveyance, how clear the message never lessens. That in itself is testament to how talented a writer you are, though thousands upon thousands of words stand in evidence, have long since shown and convinced us of the limitlessness of your creativity and beauty of phrase, still one falls each time anew. First fall, all the way at least: It was as if he had plunged off the side of a cliff and she just kept walking. His skin felt heavy. Like a wet coat. Pictures, simple and complete.
Skillful setting of that second paragraph, stone mute, set so firmly, as the word slapped smacks its syllables across the page, it is as startling to read as it was to receive. The shortness of that sentence and the order of it, any alternative that I can think of would not have worked as well and on the tail of surprise is applause for the command, the proficiency that you possess. Underlined by the wealth of language, of highly expressive, provocative and compelling language in the vastness of the sentence that follows.
Em listened in the way a cave listens to the ocean - I just love that, beautiful in every way there is and the only way to describe wet with wicked waves of tongue, lashed with words wanton as whiskey would be luscious, I could drown, be lost forever in that roll of Ws. inverted purple rivers another must-quote example of your eloquence and by She had succored him... wow has reached that plain where I finally must admit that justice could never be done to so wonderful, so compelling and well-written piece of writing. From death to life, from darkness to light, from sodomy to her awakening every aspect read, seen, heard, understood and felt from that image of she cradling his battered body, his broken soul, to her, those two words were never as expressive. She was the rain and the rainbow, entire, entirely lovely. The mother and the lover., my goodness, this is what you do, but still it overwhelms, perfectly, symmetrically, simultaneously simple and everlasting. The salvation of his virginity.
I honestly have never read another writer so capable of showing so much by saying so little. So beyond wow, the above feels only like an intro, a few initial notes made for the vastness of what eventually could be said. Right now, I need to read it again.
When my cheeks stop aching in smile, and my eyes return to vision from the blurriness of joy, I'll tell you just how much this comment means to me.
H
Poppet
I want this man...
Not sure Em is just gonna roll over. :-D
We'll see. A certain amount of resistance does the body good...
stronger the breeze, stronger the trees . . .
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