I lay, by the shape she makes. I let my hand run down the curve of back, rolling over the grooves of her spine just to land in the crease jus above her buttocks. That half circle, where a small valley leads me. I run my cold finger in that valley of her lower back. The small hairs, too light to be glimpsed by the eyes, but to the finger they are soft. That shape that moves still and methodic with her breathing.
I lift my finger for a second, and small bumps sporadically raise, those hairs are finally distinguished. Her eyes part, born again into a new day. Those brown eyes, so magnificent, so dark. Traced by the heaviest set of lashes that leave little room for the white of the eyes. Two dark globes stare at me. Her hand slips from under the sheets and takes mine, her’s are so warm, never sweaty.
Her fingers, soft and delicate, weave with mine. Her lips part, letting a soft breath escape to reach my nose. The tart breath left by the wine we shared the night before beckon me to those lips. Those lips, full and soft. I only ever kissed women. My mother and Melanie. She pulls my hand to her mouth, letting her lips part and land on the tip of my knuckle. Her lips pass over each knuckle massaging, wetting, tickling. I smile.
At this point I know I am supposed to embrace her and wet her lips. I just can’t stop staring into those dark globes. They tie my stomach in knots. They carry my every thought. The shape of her eyes bounds my hands to hers. She pulls me in and our lips curl into a passionate kiss. Her hand leaves mine to cup my breast. The valley of her thumb and forefinger pinch my nipple. My leg lifts to rest behind her’s. Now we are one shape, intertwined.
Its this moment when I can’t remember who I was. I know who I am and who I can be. I can be her’s. I can mesh into this shape for forever. I can lay by the shape she makes for eternity. There is no religion, science, or god who can make me feel as complete and assured as this moment, this shape, this woman can. The shape of our tongues passing over and under each other mirrors our bodies movements. Our hands are frantically searching, trying desperately to reach every crevice, to move over every indistinct hair, to finger every valley. Her lips leave mine to wet my neck, now my body is covered in bumps, my eye releases a tear. Her mouth reaches my nipple, my mouth lets a faint sound escape. Her mouth has enveloped my mind such that I am surprised when I feel her fingers reach my pout moving in circular motions, shooting sensations up my body.
That shape she makes with her tongue, her fingers, her back, her valley, her eyes, I found my love. Each day, I know I can wake up and be reborn. I can forget the town of Venerable. I can forget my alcoholic mother. I can forget the wicked and the pious people of this world. My world is the shape she makes. I lay by it. I live for it. I will never leave it. I can control this world. When I step out of that door, I lose that. I lose her.
The Bum Diary 