An Interlude
Razreesh
Cut me like a fruit In the still of your room I will gladly be your slave Until you tell me to go away.
(Cut me in half like a peach apple or pear Eat me for breakfast And spit out my little bones)
I will grow through your floor in a shape of a tree And will be with you everyday. Until you cut me down Until you get bored someday.
Sung by Mediaeval Baebes
"Do you ever think about the future?"
He nodded, "And the past."
"And now?" She wondered aloud.
"I'm only thinking of the present."
Mamoru drew Ami under him. He studied the faint blue lines of veins. Small life tributaries intertwined under translucent skin; blue, green and violet-shades of the ocean. He was being drawn in: he opened her shirt another button and kissed where they met. He could feel her pulse leaping to greet his lips. He parted the shirt and pushed it off her shoulders. Her eyes were so wide and deep larger and darker.his thoughts were breaking apart in that gaze.
****************************
It begins with that one kiss, the tear-stained one that involves only lips and eyes and the faint brush of fingertips. When he breaks away surprised, his heart humming it only takes a moment for their hands to reach.
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss
Palm to palm, lifeline against lifeline they touch and begin the journey. This is the awkward part because indecision is a hairbreadth away. They can turn back but the steps don't falter until they reach the door. She pulls out the key, such a innocuous discrete key to such a little room. The little dormer, a cloister with everything drawing close to them this is the setting.
***************************
He enters touch by touch, layer by layer, cell by cell lit by that little fire that sparks from his skin. Starting at the top of her head to the delicate nail on her smallest toe, he covers her. And when he finally descends its not painful (perhaps if he had been first.) but poignant warm and bittersweet. This is the art of love not its twin lust. It is the little death she does not want to recover from. When he finally spills over and the room expands around them, she does not let go.
****************************
Ami ponders all of it later. She plucks it out from its hiding place and examines each moment. She wonders (of course) . She can feel his fingers running on the soft undersides of her arm. Each touch upon touch a tattoo burned into her senses. Passion-yes it is that-but born from what?
Ami opens all the moments then and examines them slowly. The first moment of meeting in this lifetime-startled of course not only by his beauty but also the familiarity of it. Then the growth of friendship-the recognition of a similar intellect-- the jokes that only the two of them could appreciate. She could remember all of those little kindnesses he showered not only on her but also on strangers. His gentleness and valor becoming brighter in her mind to the point of blinding. His attention and warmth drew her out petal by sticky petal. And now this, this moment that cannot be taken back. Not that she wants to, but how can she walk next to him now and not think of the shadows of his fingerprints against her spine.
Razreesh
Cut me like a fruit In the still of your room I will gladly be your slave Until you tell me to go away.
(Cut me in half like a peach apple or pear Eat me for breakfast And spit out my little bones)
I will grow through your floor in a shape of a tree And will be with you everyday. Until you cut me down Until you get bored someday.
Sung by Mediaeval Baebes
"Do you ever think about the future?"
He nodded, "And the past."
"And now?" She wondered aloud.
"I'm only thinking of the present."
Mamoru drew Ami under him. He studied the faint blue lines of veins. Small life tributaries intertwined under translucent skin; blue, green and violet-shades of the ocean. He was being drawn in: he opened her shirt another button and kissed where they met. He could feel her pulse leaping to greet his lips. He parted the shirt and pushed it off her shoulders. Her eyes were so wide and deep larger and darker.his thoughts were breaking apart in that gaze.
****************************
It begins with that one kiss, the tear-stained one that involves only lips and eyes and the faint brush of fingertips. When he breaks away surprised, his heart humming it only takes a moment for their hands to reach.
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss
Palm to palm, lifeline against lifeline they touch and begin the journey. This is the awkward part because indecision is a hairbreadth away. They can turn back but the steps don't falter until they reach the door. She pulls out the key, such a innocuous discrete key to such a little room. The little dormer, a cloister with everything drawing close to them this is the setting.
***************************
He enters touch by touch, layer by layer, cell by cell lit by that little fire that sparks from his skin. Starting at the top of her head to the delicate nail on her smallest toe, he covers her. And when he finally descends its not painful (perhaps if he had been first.) but poignant warm and bittersweet. This is the art of love not its twin lust. It is the little death she does not want to recover from. When he finally spills over and the room expands around them, she does not let go.
****************************
Ami ponders all of it later. She plucks it out from its hiding place and examines each moment. She wonders (of course) . She can feel his fingers running on the soft undersides of her arm. Each touch upon touch a tattoo burned into her senses. Passion-yes it is that-but born from what?
Ami opens all the moments then and examines them slowly. The first moment of meeting in this lifetime-startled of course not only by his beauty but also the familiarity of it. Then the growth of friendship-the recognition of a similar intellect-- the jokes that only the two of them could appreciate. She could remember all of those little kindnesses he showered not only on her but also on strangers. His gentleness and valor becoming brighter in her mind to the point of blinding. His attention and warmth drew her out petal by sticky petal. And now this, this moment that cannot be taken back. Not that she wants to, but how can she walk next to him now and not think of the shadows of his fingerprints against her spine.