Like so many chance encounters we met without any intention or inclination of what would come. What else is there to do when you meet someone for the first time but to strike up conversation and slowly wade your fingertips in the in the water of their personality. Her smile and her laugh were chords of joy played upon my heart but the melody was the song with a voice that made angels cry in jubilation.
Before dawn could rob the stars of their glory, a part of me was taken and freely given in the breath of a moment. By the light of day I had meant to replace the night's fancy with the days tedium but I was haunted by the memory of her.
We met the next night in a dream, reclining in an autumn painted orchard by a river bed. On a quilted blanket of down we held each other without restraint, lost in each others gaze that we had dared not fall prey to in waking hours. For when else but in the forgiving shrouds of dream can one hope to know such perfection without the threat of madness. A timeless passage of hours held me within those eyes until I died to be born anew.
My hand brushed hers and made a slow, deliberate ascension along her forearm and passed her elbow where my fingertips could grace to the soft parts of her flesh where the joints met. Cupping her shoulder I dared the first kiss and drank of her lips as if they were ripened fruit. My breath failed me as if being expelled to make room for the passion that was swelling within me. When she returned the kiss I was filled with her breath, exchanged for my own and we collided as one.
