Everything is rushing in my veins, the white paper moths batting themselves against my rib cage as I catch glimpses of you through the windows of the tiny cabin as you make your way to me. Your leather great coat, your cream wool Irish sweater, your broken in boots, your short silvery beard.
You step inside and wordlessly opens your coat so that I can be close to you, pressing my cheek against the soft wool. I am breathing you in as deeply as I can, knowing that after this weekend I will again be in the belly of the beast, having made vows I swore I would no longer make. But not yet. Not now, with your arms tight around me while you inhale the scent of my hair, both of us struggling to believe that we've managed to conjure each other here in this tiny cabin in the deep of the wood.
You hasn't even taken your coat off before you starts piling gifts into my arms. The dark rum I acquired a taste for drinking with maple syrup at your place, glitter to swirl into cocktails, a tiny bottle of St. Germain, a pin up bunny girl rolling tray, a jar of lavender latte mix, a pastel rainbow of handblown glass joint holders all in a sleek red train case with the combination set to our anniversary. I know I cannot find the words to express what I am feeling. I always have words for everything, but you will steal them from my tongue so swiftly and sweetly that I don't even realize they are missing until you have them in your possession.
I had gathered fire wood, kindling and matches in a canvas carrier for the fire pit outside, I started the fire in the small cozy fire place, I found the wool blanket for the couch, I stocked the adorable kitchen, I booked appointments in the cedar barrel sauna, I checked the temperature of the Japanese cedar soaking tub, I arranged the altar to our lady. It was my traveling altar for her, still more fussy than your austere altar to her in your new place. When you takes off your boots, you take a moment to admire her, her candle burning brightly, her tiny copper offering cup, the oyster shells, the tapestry.
You are rolling me a cigarette, just the way I like it. The pink French rolling paper with the honeyed and pistachio tobacco with a generous dollop of hash for us to share before our appointment in the sauna. We stand outside together, wrapped in each other. You lights my cigarette for me and I exhale. I tell you about the moss and the antler I found in the woods.
We get into the sauna together and the smell of the cedar reminds me of past rituals. You ladle more hot water over the stones and we breathe in the steam together. You gently rest your forehead against my hand and turn it over to kiss my palm. We talk about building things - saunas, rituals, language, dynamics, crafts as we gaze at the snow blanketed pines outside. We take breaks to stand in the snow and cool down before going back in to have our bones warmed. When we have had enough, we shower off our sweat together, the tiny bathroom's floor is heated and the roomy shower is laden with lovely soaps and arranged perfectly so I can stay warm when you are under the water.
We go outside and you take the top of the hot tub off for me, now that it's becoming dark. You holds my rum and cigarette for me as I slide into the outdoor cedar tub like a selkie, relishing the heat of the water over my naked flesh. I know I can trust you with my discarded skins/clothing in the moonlight, you would never force me to stay in a form that's not my own, torn asunder from the sea in the light of the sun. I splash around and you kiss me before shedding your clothes and joining me. We talk about devotion and veneration and what that looks like in different contexts. We both struggle with being on the receiving end of both, even as we ensnare each other in traps made from these very things. When I last visited you, I put my head in your lap, on my knees in front of you and you stroked my hair as I sang, *A thousand flowers could bloom/ move over and give us some room, yeah/ give me a reason to love you...*
**
I can't sleep in the big bed that night, so I pad out to the living room where you regards me with interest in the firelight. I had previously said you would be safe from me that night, but the way you look at me makes me want to neatly pin you beneath me. You offer to lie next to me in the bottom bunk before you chivalrously go to sleep above me in the top bunk, knowing I am nervous about needing to climb down in the middle of the night, while full of delicious intoxicants. I eye you speculatively, but your expression gives no indication of your thoughts, cunning though they likely are. Even the bunk beds have cloud-like organic mattresses and bedding. We curl up into each other in the bottom bunk. As we whisper to each other and I look up to the lovely wood of the top bunk, I'm reminded of when I used to be in similar, though significantly less opulent, beds in college with this boy or that girl while learning calligraphy, poetry and modern dance on hardwood sprung floors overlooking other forests while musicians drummed for us.
It isn't long before our whispering leads to kissing and I'm basking in you, running my fingers through your short cropped hair and beard as my mouth parts yours beneath mine, exploring the heat of your lips before kissing the beat of your quickening pulse with gentle nips, reminding you of my sharp edges, though you would be unlikely to ever forget. I can hear your breath becoming ragged in my ear, feel the bristles of your beard under my hand, the warm spice of you flowing over me as you softly snarl into my ear, prompting me to recall your honed borders, sending an excited shiver down my spine. We are both carefully baiting each other, here in the sanctuary of our burrow.
