The sacred grove

1 min read

I came in from swimming, dripping on the warm tiles. Made a cup of coffee, watched the steam rising in a lazy curl, eyes closed, breathing it in; wandered through the house watching the curtains swell and sway as the breeze filled the house.

I lay back closing my eyes, letting the wind dry me, and despite the coffee, the swim after a long walk in the afternoon heat made me drowsy, lazy and relaxed. I drifted and imagined.

The feel of the wind a breath, a living caress stirring the hairs on my legs and thighs, a brushing touch, never lingering. The dappled light like a presence above me, leaning down, the glow of a smile, the electric tingle of interest and intrigue. The poplar leaves a voice murmuring a song of longing to let go, to dance freely, to move without restraint.

The touch could be fingers now. The warmth where sun breaks through, the heat of lips and tongue. I feel myself rise and harden, wanting to be seen, held, wanting the full wanton weight to engulf me, take me in, rise and fall above me.

Taken by a goddess and never released. She is so close, so very nearly there with me. I am desperate to keep her near, to please her, to see her smile, to watch her catch her lip with her teeth, to see her hair loosen and toss in some internal wind, to feel the ripple currents within her grow in intensity, see her look of inward concern tighten, focus, and her movements become driven, wild, compelled.

Oh, take me, I cried and reached for her swinging breasts, gripped her hips and ass, strained to meet her, to match her ferocious rhythm, to take her in equal measure to her giving, to be conquered, overcome, overwhelmed, to succumb, to be forever and finally free, beyond desire, beyond contentment, to be in that other zone where we are only and always one.

Oh to be for a moment found and forever lost, to wander always seeking to recapture that one fleeting errant moment, to lie with you always and forever honing and being ground up, ground down, ground so exceedingly fine.

I have drunk of your potent brew my darling, a strange and potent brew indeed and you have led me, laughing, skirts a-swirl about your thighs, glances like sparks cast over your shoulder as though I would be anywhere but just behind you. So you lead me on and down, to the grove in the glen and dappled light among the violets-o.

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