722. eucalyptus

Em laid chest down upon sheets clean and white, the room quiet but for his movements of leaf and oil; and from the window, a gentle warm breeze carried the throated song, melodic. Wind chimes chimed of wood and metal hollow of flute, and among it all, eucalyptus oil warmed of candle, warmed of hand, his hands, glistening firm in intent, desire, of natural education, natural as the song of bough and branch, as bamboo calling, as the plying of his fingers into her flesh.

With practiced care, he laid deflowered leaves upon her swimming back, the warmth radiating tired muscles pliable. The sharp aroma of leaf laid and oil heated rose clean as sincerity enlarging nostril and nape, expanding time and peace with each enlarging breath. And so she laid and so he worked, each stroke a poem speaking what could not be said.

The dross of the day, sighed, released, squeezed from muscle by muscle, limb by limb as fingers replaced leaf and the heat of ply weaved verse to stop the bee, pause the flower and make stars fall of dying light.