She rested her head on his chest, in that spot that felt like home, as if over time the stone of her head had worn a perfectly fitting indentation. She could hear his heart beat and feel the warmth of his metabolism. His chest rising like gentle ocean swells. He smelled of sweat and a sweet smell that reminded her that once he had been a boy, a boy with a grin as wide as sunrise and the energy of a cowhand living hand to mouth, past and future framed only by dawn and dusk. He would slip into sleep soon. His hand a rope over her shoulder. Running down her spine. Holding her as the night sky holds the moon. She would wait, holding her dreams at bay. As a ship waiting harbor.
4 comments:
Among your very best, both the words and the image. Breathtakingly beautiful story of two who love one another, have a history together and just "are" together. The genuine "knowing" of another.
Oh Lime, thank you for that wonderful comment. I'm heading to my pantry right now to exile the sugar. To the cane fields for them, I've got the Lime. :-D
I almost don't want to leave here.
It's as if I've been tossed into your seas, your surf, your easy lulls. It's as if I were tangled in nets, contentedly waiting for the drag to take me to shore. As if the shore would allow me to wander deeper in the spaces between the wounds and the words.
S., your metaphorical prowess sucks the air from my lungs and I feel faint. You describe the landscape more clearly than I can see myself and I feel that familiar tug of wanting to reach for the hand that knows more than I, that can heal what can't be seen and hold what can't be held. Your words are an unguent upon the psyche of my postings and I feel the need to be lathered. :-)
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