5.14.22

Rain dances along the gravel outside the plastered window, dulling the blade of sunlight that cuts through the blinds and rests upon the body of my lover. A chill stalks the outer edges of the mattress, daring not enter the abode of tender warmth and lustful breaths. It smells of her, and it smells of me, a mixture of earth and trees and the animals that slumber in the spring’s new growth. My fingers trace the soft curves of her body, the gentle slopes and crevices, admiring the way shadows fall within the grooves of her muscles, accenting with a brush of dusk the definition of her abs, the volume of her breasts, the crease around her lips as she offers a curious smile. I have lost myself in the words, wondering how might I capture the radiant glow of her skin in the dim midday light.

Regal – the word comes as a revelation. Her hands grip the sheets on either side of my head and she watches my hands caress, watches as I make myself feel, insist the sensation be locked up in a box not to be forgotten.

Yes, regal.

Hair falls around her face, framing striking eyes with golden locks, waves rolling through them and curling at the ends. A silhouette illuminated with a halo of godly beauty. Do i whisper how she seems to me a goddess? She watches me now, watches me play with words in my head, construct sentences out of my offering of poetics left at the altar of affection. Is comparing her to a being of unearthly power an insult to her humanity, to the way she cares for me in a way no deity has ever bothered to do? If the words of praise leave my lips, do they come then with the condemnation of how wonderfully human she is, with her own mind, her own beliefs, her own struggles and victories and wants? No, she is no goddess. She is something more. Something that cracks the foundation of belief set on sand and builds it again with roots and vines and life. Something that does more than any god or goddess ever could.

She is human. And she is beautifully regal in that humanity.