LAzily, he moved his arms up and down, his upper thighs, his upper muscles, his upper bones. The touch lingering, the scent almost intoxicating his nostrils, the hot and cold feeling of being face-down hanging on a helicopter more than a hundred feet above the ground, the nearest view a landscape full of snow topping mountains of solid rock with frozen rivers melting in thin strings of transparent water. That's how he felt.
HE went down, he went up. He lingered. The feeling remained a second, ten seconds, a misty glance and a clouded mind and a full heart.
HE kissed him, approaching his mouth. Tasting his soft epidermis, so soft, slightly tanned. Not like his.
NOt gelid pallor skin cushioning his cheekbones but a peachy shade accentuating those age-marks that enlarged within the years of separation.
HE found them beautiful, a sign of maturity and secret mystic.
THey were long lines marking playfully that beloved space of adoration. He wanted to kiss their length and feel the caressing sensation that they created every day, every hour, every second to his lover.
HE wanted to close the gap between them. No more hiding, no more chasing, no more hunting. Just the dish served on perfect porcelain plates--Wait! No. His ambrosia served in cracked creamy-colored ceramic ware with nectar shining in crystal sets of glasses laced in flourish arabesques.
HE just wanted to shape it, to crave that feeling through the anxious tick tock of the ancient grandfather clock.
HIs features spinning in sudden movements, his cells sweating salty-tasting liquids. He nibbles, he licks, he kisses gently. He goes down.
HIs hands squeezing and tapping his stomach, drawing imaginary circles around his belly button. Life cut out from the same tree. Love reigning and growing under the same umbrella and its tight and elastic fabric. No photosynthesis shading their nest May it be.
THat sensation repeatedly hitting the pit of his stomach, sending electric waves through his entire body, heart-beating increasing and flooding fueled by more than electron energy.
OPosites don't attract. They don't. He grips steadily his arm, stretches it, the sparse hair tickling his, stroking the nerves under his skin.
HE goes down, his nails tripping, twisting in a confused drunk harmony. Pacing. Resting.
MArking. Arousing.
SCars scratched. Digits digging. Like chopping the branch of the tree. Like chopping the branches of a tree in bloom. How oblivious of them!
SCulpting pink blushes, quick and scarlet flushed cheeks and the surprising demeanor of his moans.
HE whispers. Slowly. Slower.
HE whispers but to me -he monologues.
SWeet silent dialogue we have. In a velvet evening when the horizons bemused into amethyst hues start to fade into violet glooms.
THe glass reflects the light glow of his delicious silhouette.
I embrace the feeling going down always. His body, my own. My body, his own.
MY fingertips reaching out for his intimate sex.
HE says my name. It's just a sigh away. An uttered melody sprouting out of his breathing-cages.
REleasing the pain. He's free. No airtight-chested sounds and vibrations. No secretive looks.
JUst the calm and quiet ways of feeling released.
MY lips firmly layered onto his. My tongue curious and intruding with unexpected hunger. Sipping heavily. Thirsty.
HOlding his name in my palm, feathery written in soft black ink and the eyes when open, scarlet as the dying twilight. Forgiving. Promising. Eternal.
ende....