Callie awoke with a pleasant soreness all over her body, and she grinned as she stretched. Last night…Mark had done things to her she hadn't even known existed, gave her body pleasure she had never known before. She couldn't recall ever having had that many orgasms in one night, and the soreness between her legs would be a constant reminder all day of the infinite pleasures of the night before.
She rolled over, and noticed a note on the pillow where Mark had slept. Furrowing her brow, she picked it up and read it.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
She read it several times, each time her smile growing wider and wider. Mark never ceased to amaze her.
Getting up, she pulled on her bathrobe and went out into the kitchen to find him making coffee. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around him. "Did you write that?"
"I wish. It's Pablo Neruda."
She let go of him and looked at him quizzically. "Neruda? I wouldn't think you'd know who he was."
"And why is that?" he asked with a smile, leaning back against the counter to wait for the coffee to brew. "Because I'm a manwhore?"
"Reformed manwhore," she replied. "And…I didn't think you were the poetry type." She cocked her head. "I'm getting the feeling that there's a lot I don't know about you."
He shrugged and gave a small, enigmatic smile.
"No, seriously. Neruda?"
"I double majored in bio and English."
"Really."
"Yep."
"What else are you not telling me?" she asked. "Do you speak Russian? Can you walk on stilts? Can you ride a unicycle? I mean, the possibilities are endless."
Mark chuckled. "I'm abysmal at foreign languages, despite spending a semester in Rome. I can juggle. I can recite the alphabet backwards. I like Bogart movies. I enjoy Spongebob Squarepants. I never learned to ride a bike. My first kiss was with Sally Lyons in the eighth grade."
Callie smiled. "Now you're just mocking me."
"Yes," he replied, leaning over to kiss her tenderly. "I am. And we have plenty of time to find out everything about each other."
"Everything?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well…maybe not everything. But close." He smiled. "I like to keep you guessing."
