You, laid out like Christ, on my bed and I follow the trail of your legs - bare and white in the afternoon sunlight. And you almost look like me, until I see your face, eyes closed and a soft smile on your lips.
I think I've found myself in you.
/ / /
Not like this. But then again, how else could it be?
They call fame a shooting star for a reason, don't they?
Ashley's fingers, calloused now, wrap around the arm-rest and she holds on tightly and there is a velocity to the air in this plane and it pushes against her skin like the hand of God.
Like a hurricane trapped in a glass globe, that's how it feels in this cabin.
And if she were to glance to her right, she'd see her manager passed out and head hanging limp and tie askew around his neck.
And if she were to listen closely, she'd hear the static and the staccato rhythm of words, of pleas, of fear as it pierces the thundering silence of falling.
Didn't this happen to a lot of other people, a lot of other tale-weavers and teenage-wonders?
Didn't this happen on a highway somewhere in California, with a squealing of tires and blood leaving a cold body?
Ashley blinks, just the once, but there is nothing else to see now.
/ / /
Not a sound, not a comment, just the touch of my mouth to your body. And you breathe so steadily, heartbeats in the muscles of your thighs and your pulse is a beacon flashing in every vein, showing me your strong life and showing me you are alive and here and mine to adore.
I'd be the man at your feet, worshipping your marble visage and kissing the ground beneath you. I'd be the woman making your home, cutting the wood and baking the bread and tenderly raising your children.
Giving up and giving in, all to you, always to you.
/ / /
Spencer sits still and is distracted by something outside as this meeting goes on and on. As the talks turn to money and the creative side gets lost, like it often does, like it is expected to do.
But, out there, upon the limbs of that tree is a bird - bright red wings flapping, rapid and quick, thump thump thump. And the chest is puffed out and she knows it is calling for something, someone, somewhere. Calling out and darting that black gaze and she wonders if birds can get lost - a detour not meant to be, a family left behind, and no idea of how to get back home.
A voice asks if she is okay.
And she isn't.
And the bird pushes at the atmosphere, rising and rising, burning bright in the sun before it disappears from view.
As if it were never there at all.
/ / /
And there, there we meet, a slow caress to the deepest part of you and you do not moan and you do not hiss. You lift yourself, you roll up and out and take me in and there, there we meet, warm and inviting and quiet and intimate as I linger by your knee and taste the tension as you strain without breaking and you are my everywhere and there, there we meet.
Curled around you curled around me. Endlessly... and there we meet.
In the middle of passion and in the midst of love, there we meet.
/ / /
And she inhales, holds it, then allows it to go as the ocean swallows them whole.
And she exhales, until no air is left, then sags against this floor as the phone finally rings.
/ / /
:end: