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We have come this far.
How long has it been?
The hours seem to dissipate; a sputtering sonology of life and sex and
dying embers.
Just enough coal to keep warm and alive.
How long has it been?
You carry me up the stairs.
Not a coiled reference to be made, you lash at me in devilish glances.
I know tomarrow you'll start me laughing about the shivvering mess I
have become. Now, though, you slither through the blankets like Eve
and I am suddenly aware of your smile. Warm and Alert. Loving. You brandish
a challenging eye. I grin back at you like the autumn fires; bright,
plentiful, and falling.
How long has it been?
Your hands find my cold body at mercy.
Each finger tip holds aching, solar heat against my flesh as your grasp
pulls us closer. I can taste the april dew of your sweat on the air
between our bodies. I find that I am no longer afraid. You brush my
hair from my face; I choke the final remains of ice from my lungs. How
many times had we put each other back together; twisted, broken, or
bleeding? My drown and tired body surrenders to your quiet love; the
question no longer fills each moment with feral curtains of primal fear:
How long has it been?
We have come this far.
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