There’s this other cat, Tom, he’s such a douche. He lives in a tree behind my house. Literally, in the tree. I have to give him credit, living in a tree’s pretty intense, but I think it’s more that he’s socially awkward rather than enlightened. He’s always talking about the time he lit out, he’s always saying things like “lit out,” about the time he lit out on some river-raft with this black cat, Jim. It’s like, “Tom, nobody cares that the river was powerful slow, or how the nights were powerful dark. You’re a pretentious douche.” Nobody says this to his face, of course, but we think it. I sleep under his tree is why I mention him, he always gets me after naps, telling his adventures.

Anyway, more tomorrow about tomorrow.

They’re like moths to a flame, the flame of each other, heat radiating between them like a flickering candle.

She grabs him fast, pulls him close. She’s a reaction to him and he to her, unspoken, automatic, like atoms colliding toward an explosion.

They’re completely drawn to each other, the flame between them, their dance isn’t subtle, or delicate, it’s powerful, and beautiful. She takes him inside her, pulling him toward a place outside of this world, a place without conscious thought, a world wholly their own, a place of heat and only the feeling of being deep within her. She asks him to come with her, for her, she wants it so badly, aches for him, begs for him to fill her with liquid-fire. They’re dancing a dance of heat, sweat, skin touching skin, a dance of ecstasy rising, falling into decadent nothingness.

She pulls him close, deep inside her. He comes like she asked, like he always does and always will. They’re like moths to a flame, the flame of each other, white-hot, unending.

He’s enthralled to you, you hold every key to his every lock. Your smile. soft and bright as full moonlight. Your warm eyes, the color of fall leaves. He knows your face so well, loves you so well, he could sketch every inch with his eyes closed. It’s almost too much beauty, more than he can hold inside him sometimes, almost too overwhelming, when things are quiet, when he’s alone, He knows you’re more like a star fallen from the sky than just some anybody. He knows there’s no one who can fill his dull world with so much radiance. He knows you’re the only you.

He’s laid next to you at night, woken from bad dreams, feeling you there slowed his racing heart, made his head a safe place. You never heard it, you looked too peaceful nudge back to conciousness. but he’d tell you things.  Angel, I love you, I can’t explain how much, I just love you with everything in me. I don’t want to be anywhere else right now, you’re where I want to be, always, since the day we met. I don’t ever want you to go. He’d feel so much, say so much, all while you slept.

He loves you for all your beauty, for the peace you give him when you’re close, but not just those reasons. Something intrinsic draws him in, there’s something intangible that he sees in your eyes that binds him and ties him to you so tightly. Sometimes his wrists bleed, bound by invisible strands. The pain makes no nevermind to him. He’d cut himself a thousand times for you. He’d bleed out for you.

He’s never told you these things, but do you know them anyway, in ways unspoken?

You’re asleep now, but you’ll be awake soon, somewhere else and not with him.

Her long dark hair’s in your face, tiny curls tickling your nose, her tongue wrapped around yours.

She’s already naked, already wet for you, from you. Her breasts, her body, pressed hard against you, her legs hugging your waist.

She’s going to take you inside her, she’ll hold you there, deeply. You’ll come deep in her, sooner rather than later, whether you want to or not. She’s taken you past the place of choice.

You can’t breathe, or speak. Her teeth tore into your throat, ripped out your tongue.

You’re inside her and she’s soaking wet, wet with your blood.

You’ve never been with a woman like her, nor will you ever be again.

She’s please God, please. Let me stay here, just let me stay. Please. Talking to God at 4 a.m. with the voice in your head, the voice no one hears.

She’s bright light and right in front. She’s vanish and perfect dark.

She’s sad songs, and lonely songs.

She’s Heaven and Purgatorying.

She’s want and wait, air and breathlessness.

She’s love and safe, peace and sleep.

She’s home and away, too far and away.

She’s your muse and your torment, forever in you, and on you, and with you.

Electricity flies through her and into you, burning away all the fear and loneliness that’s been enfolded around your heart for so very long. Every nerve in your body is alive and screaming. The current from her touch runs down your spine to the tips of your toes, and for this series of perfect moments you know what it’s like to feel truly happy, truly in love.

You’ll fall asleep holding her close, dazed from feeling what it’s like to be struck by lightning