Playground of the Gods

January 25, 2011 at 12:52am

Cold nights in Brooklyn bring warmth.
Like that of fleece.

We play touch and keep, under sheets of cascading fabric.

Satin, silk, cotton.

We lose our minds when we touch!
My, fingertips intertwining with the Earthly sands of her skin.
I know this is a sin but God surely let this inside the gates.

No bra, just cotton draping from shoulder to waist.
Simple hoodie.
Thin bottoms with a sensual, thinner layer beneath.
Beneath, her flesh creases not.
It meshes and I only proceed to do the same.

Our bed is minimal.
To be close is just an extension of our subliminal.

I limit my words.
Increase my caress.
As does her breaths; moans.
Fingers roam, from collar bone to mid chest.
Mid chest suggests thumb and middle finger out-stretched.
The stress?  No more between us.
Only a thin, loving line of passion.
She won't deny me and and I won't deny her.

This is a fantasy turn real.

A once, not-so-long-ago ideal.
I sleep inside of her mind, heart and soul and she does the same.
I desire this warmth; just as she does.
The vacancy sign is turned off.
The light of our beautiful souls are turned on and our bodies mimic the switch.

This has been a dream come true.
A hue on the canvas of us, that even Van Gogh would have a difficult time understanding.

No demands are uttered.

Just requests.
More and more and more until the limit is reached.
The climates peaked are now circumnavigating longitudes and latitudes.

We allow our paintbrushes to enjoy play time on each other's canvases.

Our easels move smoothly along the wooden floors.

Paint falls.

Brushes pause in mid air.

We sleep.

Keeping our art alive as our souls transcend space and time.

The Place? Divine.

A place where Gods play off of each others personalities.

This denial exists no longer.