Standing on the bed gives a new perspective. Dairy-skinned you bend into the wall with a small, soft sigh. The day has been long-waiting on us, hours played out in our mind, single dreams overlapping. The night is crisp outside, sneaking in through the curtains unexpectedly, and coming to sharp contrast on my hands against your warmth.
Looking down I can follow the flow of your legs, so like milk stone pillars. And I push you forward, making you crest against the cold stone. A struggle ensues, a slow battle between us as I trap you here against me. How long we fight; fight the cold, fight the warmth, fight each other. Ecstasy blooming in the blood rushing heat of battle.
But time rolls on and the rush subsides once more into a deep mere, innocence in its placid surface. I take you away from the cold, and when you settle yourself upon me, I trace the fingers of my right hand down your chest, counting bone. Would that I could keep the total in my head, I count again and again while rhythmic rings expand from you, as you dip and rise on my lap.
Numbers forgotten I hold onto you for dear life as, together, we slowly sink our ship into this sea.
I'm 60 feet tall. .
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