by Amber Hipple
(11/19/03)
Here is a Garden of Eden. There is grass of verdant green embracing pale skin and tender hidden places are tickled by questing breezes. There is water and lilac, jasmine and ginger. And there is a blue sky, purest blue horizon stretching endlessly before my eyes. Clouds and birds and sun... beauty in the simplicity and harmony. It moves through me, makes me quiet and thoughtful. Now, today, this moment, I am more connected than I have ever been. Why have I never looked at the sky? My eyes were always elsewhere, on the perfection of a face or the scars that marred otherwise supple hands.
So I simply close my eyes now. I will not look at the sky. I cannot look at hands. These things are more than I. They are something grand, something complex and I simply...am. I want to weep with the majesty of it all: of a lover's remembered form, the azure sky, drone of insects, and lapping water. I will just look within, see what I am, the humbleness of my thoughts.
Close my eyes, whisper to myself in my mind, not wanting to speak and break this spell. Feel the earth, smell the water, hear the sounds. Experience, blind...sensory deprivation and everything else awakens. Everything else becomes more sensitive. Every pore, every follicle, every nerve. My body is tensed in anticipation of something that won't come, something that would complete this moment and give it all the meaning I seek. I'm anticipating him, only a phantom of my mind.
Oh how I wish, no, how I yearn. Rock me gently and cradle my head between those hands that I have imagined so many times. Behind closed eyes I see sun jeweled patterns on my inner lids while I trace his skin and etch the memory of his flesh into itching fingertips. I will fall into his warmth and inhale the musk of his skin. I want to taste and learn with body and mouth and heart. I would like us to move together in awkward greed until the pattern beneath all the craving begins to emerge in ecstatic rhythm.
Sunlight sweetness and I'm floating away in my drowsy state. Floating away on the molten ambrosia of his lips. It all becomes like molasses covering my limbs and weighing me down until I'm falling, spiraling in the liquid. Perspiration and condensation like breath against wintertime window panes. I am drowning but I can still breath. I am alive and full of his presence.
I'm just another blooming flower of this garden under the gentle touch of his hands. My mind whispers, "There is time. Nothing but time." A moment, an instance and this feeling, this awareness of the now, is flooding my body, pervading my lungs. Beautiful and I want to weep again. My heart is bursting with the crisp clean purity of it. White light, like a white light and the urgency is gone. Banished are the hot tears and red haze that always plague me.
This is a healing. Slow, sweet and deep he moves within me. Nimbus of light around him. He becomes my angel. Blur of a smiling face and buzz of a distant voice. Half remembered, half felt, never known, eluding me. Nebulous, but the lingering tingle of phantom hands is real. The slow drip of wetness on my inner thigh is real. The salty sweet tears on my lips are real. The words that flicker in my mind's eye are real. He is real.
Breasts and ankles and skin and lips. On my knees, no mindless begging. Adoration from my parted lips and yearning eyes. The smooth skin of his cock between my lips, coarse pubic hair against my cheek and deeper primal scent, taste. Softness...and I let him come into me again.
Legs around his and my face, cheek, nestled against the broadness of his chest, gyration and undulation. Hips and hips. Smiling and watching his face, his breath...and heartbeat in my ears. Pristine clouds, I feel supported. Worshipping him as he thrusts. Most holy of holies and I understand love again.
When he comes, spent and drained, held by my silken walls, it explodes. Flash behind my closed eyes. And my orgasm washes through me. Wave after wave, gasping in its wake. White pulsing light. White noise.
Only dreams. Only unmemories. Only me, alone is this garden staring down at the mounds of my breasts and thighs. Hand disappearing into that slick crevice. But the light is still so real in my dazzled eyes. The slickness of my sex, the tingle of lips and fingertips. I am alive...happy, smiling. Somehow, he is real.
