Madame and Eve

Quick, erratic footsteps.
Soft breaths audible in the quiet night.
Whispered small talk, still nervous.
Growing desperation based on pending excitement...
we stop, and stare up at the astronomical display in wonderment.
Furtive movements, almost guilty, like youths.
Two girls and tentative smiles.
watch for a path...
do you see one?
There!
Lets go...
Whisper and shiver, the tall grasses envelop us.
I can barely see you as you glide between them.
There's no path here!
How misleading...just grasses.
Where is the island among this sea of greens?
I want to reach out, and touch you but
I'm always two swishes away.
Much unlike the stereotypical oasis,
we find our Eden under a tree.
Madame and imperfect Eve.
Realize a realization?
We pause a moment, take a breath...
stare into the velvet of the sky.
We've managed to escape from the confines of city life,
to a place jammed in-between its parts.
I think about the anatomy of a woman...it fits.
A dark place, to find solace and comfort.
You didn't even know that this existed.
I'm glad we can share it.
Is there something you'd like to show me?
Ah... I see.
A blanket down, shoes off.
Midnight picnic.
(I wonder what is on the menu?)
Part of me wishes we could lay here a while,
hiding, waiting like predators in the bushes.
I'm overcome with a desire to snuggle you.
My wandering mind is wakened from its dreamlike state,
with a resounding crack.
Bare hand, on bare bottom.
It echoes in my ears, and in the trees.
Plangent, reverberating.
But there's not a sound from me.
If the birds weren't sleeping, they would take off in flight.
The tattoo of their beating wings,
creating music with the rhythmic contact of your hand.
You tease with your fingers and drive me into insanity;
I crave release.
When?
And then, much like you are pulling apart the string that holds me together,
You stop, and its my turn.
I ache.
Your demand excites me.
Button after button until your shirt is undone.
I slide my hands up to your breast, and lean against you.
A final button, and the swish of falling cotton.
You are there, in front of me, endlessly female.
My Madame.
I worship at you, as though you're an altar.
Paying penance.
Shall I lay an apple at your feet?
I'm sure you hunger for so much more than an apple.
I breathe you in,
your femininity.
I love you with my mouth, and let you take control over me.
Enveloped in branches, covered in a blanket of night,
we share sin and revel in it.
There is something so wild,
So carnal about loving in wilderness.
Primal.
Uncontrolled.
Not unlike our interlude here.
I yearn to please you, to give you release.
I thirst for you, as though your nectar would be the wine,
the sacrament to bring me absolution.
A fleeting thought of an apple,
of divine condemnation,
and I am sipping at your cup.
I am taking the host, at our own private mass,
and finding the pathway to my own private heaven.
You are spent.
I am shaking with need.
I lay my cheek against your thigh and feel your fingers knotted in my hair.
I sigh into the night.
I see your profile in the light of a brigh summer moon.
In silence, we swim swiftly back out through the brush,
stopping only to stare at the stars.
Words spoken would only interrupt the peace.
I can hear your breathing, soft and slow.
I can hear my heart beating.
We have taken each other in the underbrush, in Eden,
and left nothing behind but the soft echo of our footsteps.