Tuesday, July 5, 2005

Brother, Dear Brother (p. 14)

Brother, Dear Brother
Thelonious Wadlington

The stars sat still, watching us watch them. Each cloud seemed to have gone on holiday at the behest of each star; or rather, through our own wills. The flattened grass under our naked backs did not prick or itch, but seemed only to bend under our weight and will as we laid side by side, hand in hand, exposed to the night exposed to us. A wan moon blanketed us in its bluish glow and a cool, favonian breeze traversed our skin glistening with the sweat of passion from the heat of a midsummer’s night.

I turned to him and he turned to me on his side, slender and curved like a tulip seeking sunlight, his jet-black hair falling over his eyes but leaving his rubious, supple lips free to press against my own while he pulled and pressed me close to him until our midriffs were laved against one another and our legs were woven together. My hand traveled down his side and rested on his waist. He was so smooth like an angel’s down. My fingers migrated up the centre line of his back and I palmed his velvety nape, the tips of my fingers in his hair. Oh! How gentle he was when he slid his delicate hand into the longing furnace that was my loins and I writhed and my body arced into him as I whimpered under his breath. He silenced me with his fine, incarnadine lips and floated above me as if underwater and lifted by a current.

Above me, he pulled his lips away from mine and his obsidian eyes stared into me. It was like gazing into a mirror. His visage was my own and he was haloed by the moon behind him, his hair hanging like willow branches. He smiled softly and, at this, I smiled and I felt the tears welling in my own eyes then rolling down my temples. He smoothed the hair from my brow and wiped the tears away with his hand. He leaned in close to me, rested his cheek against mine, and kissed my ear. I turned my head and his lips met my neck, and again…and again. Our bodies together, he stretched his arms out on either side until his hands were in mine. Our fingers crossed and our arms parallel he dragged them along the grass and above my head until our bodies were like spears.

‘I am you and nothing more,’ he whispered, and he raised both of my legs onto his shoulders and slipped into me. My very skin tinged and I whimpered again and gasped as if my essence had been spilled into the night. I clenched… He pushed… I clenched… he felt so fluid as he delved into me and into me as I clasped his glazed, pallid back with both hands, moiling to keep my talons from harming him. The trees harkened my cries and the cherry blossoms floated down on us. Deeper he pushed… I clenched… I brought my hands down up on the earth and clasped and wrenched the grass from her, his sweat dripping onto my chest. A drop of his blood fell onto my neck from where he had bitten his lip.

Oh, my brother! My hand moved down my torso and I fondled my own item and brought my hand up again, caressing my chest above the back-and-forth of my body. My hand slid up my neck, collecting blood and sweat and I brought it to my mouth. Oh, my sweet-tasting brother! I took my other hand, aquiver, down and clutched myself; stroked myself in time with his metronomic thrusts. Oh! How I thought or bodies would blaze with fire when he let loose from his rod his nectar inside of me and I onto my already dampened self. My body collapsed. My brother laid on me, his breath hot on my chest, and then he brought his lips, one still raw from the pangs of ecstasy, to mine and he tasted so sweet. With the same black eyes he looked into me.

‘Brother, dear brother...’ he said, and floated to the earth beside me. We laid side by side, hand in hand, exposed to the dawn exposed to us. I turned and he turned toward me and wrapped his arm around me. We slumbered beneath the matutinal elegy of the waking lark.

No comments: