When The Others Have Gone


In Memory of Love with J.

When the others have gone and the fire begins to burn low, I am alone and I think of you.

Music hangs like incense in the air. The candle flames are steady; no currents remain from quick-witted conversations and hearty laughter. Only echoes linger.

The wine touches my lips, sweet and cold. Around me, the room exists for itself, and I am only a distant spectator, the sole witness to the flickering flames.

I can feel you here. Your presence is strong, as if you never were gone from my side. I can almost see you sitting there. The firelight fills your glass and you carry it to your lips.

You look at me, and your faint smile embraces me. I can feel the barest hint of your fingertip just above my ankle. My sensations are out of proportion to the stimulus.

We are embracing. I feel my head tucked beneath your chin and your arms about my shoulders. My lips are at the base of your neck and I am speaking to you softly, feeling your skin under my mouth. Your hand is at my cheek; you cradle my head in your palm.

I do not say another word but my lips are not silent. They chatter gaily just below your jaw. I taste your skin.

I feel your hand at my breast. Your touch is soft as you caress its tip, so gentle that I feel it not there, but elsewhere. My body tingles with the connections you have made.

We are kissing. I taste the wine at your lips and in your mouth. Your hands are exploring and I feel my clothes being pulled from me. My hands seek the same purpose so that I might see you clothed only in firelight.

We are naked. How is it that the serenity of the space could have been so shattered? How is it that the cool autumn air has become heated? You are touching me.

Our hands and mouths are curious. They question, they tease, they discover, they devour. I have lost my way somewhere. I am floating. You are inside me.

We move against each other. The candles flicker as our voices stir the air. I am full of you, and together we grow until we fill the room. I am at once removed from myself and aware of every sensation. I feel the blood in my veins. Your rhythm is driving my heartbeat. If you were to stop, I would die.

We explode together, our cries splashing the walls to mingle with the firelight. Who is to say that we are not glowing in that moment? Who is to say that we are not casting light against the walls?

We rest against each other. The room has asserted itself again.

It is as if you were just there.

But you have gone, and my glass sits alone, reflecting and deflecting the dying firelight. You have left my fire, never to return again.


THE END


- - - - - -Precious





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