posts 9/1/2006 11:42 pm
9/5/2006 9:23 pm
Beasts and Blossoms
I could see them. Peering around the edifice of a gnarled tree, I watched over low hanging branches, my view minced through leaves. They were there, just on the edge of the glade, a stark contrast of flesh on dry, wild grass. I had stumbled upon the two of them while walking, and at first had thought they were animals. On second glance, I saw that indeed they were.
I was so close...enough to see the tiny bruises on a shin, the flame-red polish on toes, just starting to flake. The illusion was that they were one gyrating entity, a silvery earthworm coiling in on itself. Never had I before seen such a decisive union, one road of flesh, made of complementary elements, stretched over diverse terrain. Then I began to see the structure and design of that seemingly singular body as a set of individual components. I saw the elbow that supported a hand that held a thigh, a stomach that rocked under the sweat-matted hair of another.
In that tall grass there lay a creature, splayed on her back, glass-eyed. She bore achingly white skin, skin so pale it lent her the appearance of heightened nakedness. Her large breasts sat atop a glass ribcage. They shivered in unison under the casing of her tight skin. The nipples were constricted and reaching upward, still wet with her lover's saliva. The woman's knees were raised and parted, forming landmarks of perfect acceptance.
Attached to her, there below the belly, was the tail of the snake, the appendage, but a thing of such shimmering beauty that it glorified the whole. A dark-skinned siren was pressed at the shrine of open thighs. A head of full black hair gyrated, above a stretch of feminine neck. The neck, like the calves and thighs were elongated, corded with sinew.
I could not see her eyes, or the expression she wore. From my vantage point I could see only the dance of her movements and the blush of her appetite. She crouched low, her breasts crushed into the dirt. Conversely, her rump hovered high in the air, the rump of a gelding, round and split deep. She murmured there on her pale lover's sex, whispering over the thick mound of hair, hypnotizing the ruddy nether-lips. As if for my pleasure, she pulled back the moist ceiling that sheltered the clitoris and its tiny, pink pearl winked at me.
I watched that woman ply with tender hands and fingers. But her mouth was angry, her lips and tongue savage, starving as she laid claim to the fluids and the writhing. Her performance seemed for the commerce of flesh.
The prize's tender shoulders were pinned to the ground under the weight of the sky, her mouth open to catch the sunlight dripping from the leaves. I pitied her, only the blanket of air thrown over her chest and throat, the awkward vulnerability of her hands as they fluttered at her sides. I yearned to take her fingers and press them to her lips so she could suckle them like a child, or whisper that she may place them in the bright flood of her hair.
Entranced, I unconsciously matched my breathing to theirs, my hips moving in accordance with their rhythms. My blood listened to the throb of their own. With the rapture came the disquieting thought that I was obtrusive noise, poorly mimicking the stillness of this place, adopted only by the stance of a tree. Would they hear my mortal hum, the swelling volume of my quickening?
Stretching my arm around the tree, I pressed myself more tightly into it, carving out a place to fit. I rubbed at a naked spot with the pads of my fingertips, a scarred place, where the bark had fallen away, my fingers circling that raw tissue. There came a sweet stickiness over the tips of my fingers and across the back of my hand. Slowly, the sap bled down my naked arm, onto my shoulder and the hollow of my neck. It came warm, spilling between my breasts and pooling there. I suddenly knew it was my sap spinning seductive visions. It was the thickened tears of my own sex, leaking onto my fingers, where I was stroking past its protective bark.
There was a sudden tremor in the glade. The wind converged between the trees, rushing into the lovers' hair. The earth seemed to heave slightly beneath them and I knew it was time. My sacrificial creature bent now, folding up and away from her bed of grass. Her back arched, spine convex, a plank warped by a current of energy. All her weight was balanced on a great, heavy bottom that lay like the crests of a heart, inverted and pressed into the black, fecund soil. Closing her legs around her lover's head, she pressed her thighs over the woman's ears. The dark one, the administrator, bobbed her rear in empathic anticipation. She moved as though the invisible spirit of the soil had converged there at the crux and was stroking her vaginal folds, the soft vents of a mushroom open and pliant.
Pressed under the rigid jaw of her lover, I heard the pale animal cry out, caught in the snare of tongue and lip. And still her eyes were open. I wished I could smother them shut, closing her to all the stimulus, all but the crawl of the heat between her legs. Caught in a jolt that held the sting of lightening, I saw her color turn from milk to pomegranate. Her hands recovered themselves and knotted into the dark hair on her lover's head. She cried out again, but it was a suspectly inhuman sound, the call of a winged thing circling above, suspended.
She broke then, the smell of her orgasm washed through the grass and spilled over me. It had the scent of torn blossoms and bees wings. With closed eyes, I inhaled her intimacy, this gift wrapped in an overwhelming sweetness.
And still my sap leaked while watching them enfold each other, hot and drowsy in their nest of bruised grass. I dreamt of an embrace of my own, of the sap cooling, my body becoming encased, bound to, and indivisible from this place of ritual. It struck me then, there would be little glory in being an inert, genuflecting monument. There was infinitely more grace in being what I was, a witness. Only with the voice of a bard, will I honor the avarice of the animals