The way that her lips part into that smile could break a thousand hearts and cause twice as many to flutter away into the night. The way that her lashes brush her cheek bones, laced with salt that shimmer crystalline make my guts twist with a heady desire. To have her, to be her… to be consumed by her. The way her lyrics fall from her tongue envelope my audits like a thick foam and I am overcome by her. This beautiful creature before me, be she flesh -unlikely, for no flesh have I ever seen could move me so- or a collection of stars and sea and the breath of the night and born on the moon, she is perhaps the only thing that has made sense to me since I first found myself on the shores of this strange new land.
For a moment I feel as though I might be able to forget -not forget, no, just tuck away as gently as a babe- that my goddess may have abandoned me. If I could just sink into her flesh, into the warm embrace of the water in which she stands, shepherd over the waves. Perhaps I have found goodness and wholeness again within her, this creation of the universe brought to light just for me to find. This prick of light within the darkness of my sorrow, dancing across my vision and beckoning me to find a home within her.
The sea rises to meet her every inch of flesh and the way that her form glides so effortlessly, as if the waves part for her and her alone. Even though the winter air chills me to the very marrow in my bones, the sea nipping delicately at my hocks and begging for more, I desire to fall into her embrace. My audits flick as a breeze trails icy nails against my skin, pulling at the silver jewelry on my body and orchestrating a clear chorus of bells. Enticing is what she is. Thick and lusty and an embodiment of desire
I hadn’t quite realized how much the Sages had tried to push such feelings away. And away from me in particular. Not until this very moment. Desire, they had said, would be the death of nearly all things. To desire is to harbor impure thoughts for people, for things, for experiences. It places some attachment, some ideal, to that which has no business with such things. Desire breeds contempt, and sourness, and ill will and hatred. Desire for another soul to be your constant companion. Desire for more knowledge than you are ready for. Desire to become more than what you are capable of. I realize now, with the chilling winds, with the tug of the sea drawing me further from the shore, with the beckoning of her wildness and abandon, that I have been aching with desire for many things.
And why shouldn’t I be filled with desire? Why should now, of all times, I be held to a standard that I never believed in to begin with? What is stopping me from indulging in the richness of this desire bubbling forth?
The figure before me slips back against the sea, beckoning me to follow, a billowing cloud of steam rising from her as a curtain rises for the audience at a theatre. She beckons me with her eyes, with her tongue and her body, to know her, and to know the sea. And now, of all times, I am overwhelmed with the base need to know. The sea calls, but it is second only to her, this goddess sent herald of the night. This wild woman who’s soul seeks to find the reckless abandon within my own and draw her out and dance naked in the moonlight. The chill of the wind pushes me into the heat, following her into the waters that chill all too quickly.
“If I were to learn anything of love…” I whisper, far more husky than I would have otherwise thought reasonable for a mare given any other circumstance. I lick my lips and taste the sweet bitterness of salt there. I lick them again. “I imagine you would be the only appropriate mentor… Be it of the earth, the sky or sea, or any of her subjects and creations.”
Perhaps I am all too eager to follow her and perhaps I have had some leave of my senses as the sea swells to meet me. My copper tresses swirl around me, mingling with foam and sea and starlight as I press further towards her with one goal in mind. To touch and taste and feel what lies beneath the rippling waters, what muscle lends life to the paint on her body and to know the texture of the salt of the sea on her satin skin and what her teeth would feel like if she were to swallow me absolutely whole.
She's in my head again
She knows where I have been
She knows where I have been
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