The plush velvet smelled of a rich incense. The colors of jewels interlaced with gold threading held in the thick smoke. A woman chants just on the edge of the consciousness, her voice soothing like a balm. The cushions and throws are soft, swallowing limbs.
On the edge of his hazed vision he saw her. Wild black hair laced with dark feathers moved like the wind, seeming to float around her pale face. Her body, short and curvaceous, moved to an unknown tune.
Her body moved like water, undulating and flowing as though a current flower through her.
The jewel toned skirts hung off her hips and her belt jingled with movement.
Swish, swish, went her skirts against each other, against her legs, skimming the rugs, just barely concealing her bare feet.
The woman entranced him. Though hardly awake he could not look away. She reminded him of a thick red wine. Dark, mysterious, bold, and sweet.
Every sense was caressed by the scene. Every sense filled with sensations of pleasure, from touch to sound, from sight to taste.
He longed to reach out to her, touch her, feel her. She danced close but out of reach, alluring but distant. She was wild, he knew, and he ached to tame her.
Her chanting filled the room, filling his ears, filled his head. He reached out a heavy hand, just a touch is all he needed.
A giggled cut through the trance he was trapped in. The haze from his vision dissipated as though a spell had be broken. His eyes instead stared into another pair. The dark earthy brown poured into his, and suddenly he felt as though history itself was staring back at him.
Softly, in a whisper, playful words fell from her lips.
"Are you dreaming of me?"
The man wakes in a cold sweat, jerked into the waking world. The cold air is harsh to his nose and the rough blankets scratch his skin. Suddenly he felt cold, as though something was missing. His solitude crashed around him, and he longed to return to the dream.