The Breath of You

A million years pass, her cheek against his flat stomach, he clutching her hand tighter than ever before, stroking her hair with his other hand. His breathing shallow; hers barely audible, but impossible to ignore, warming the hairs below his navel and above his waistline. Nothing seems to matter anymore. Out of sight; out of mind; out of time; out of body; yet nothing matters except for her body, the liquid lust spilling from inside her even as she tries to calm her breath, still her body; but she is not in control. She's barely thinking but her mind is screaming, her body wet, stirring of its own accord, her hips twitching with desire, her eyes closed, her tongue moving, her breath his, their bodies one, their souls combining. The moment explodes. The clock stops. Time fades. She is on fire, dying out loud, giving birth and being born simultaneously; it seems that the only purpose of everything, of her life so far, could be to lead up to this. This is why she was born. Maybe she is already dead. Then she can feel his heartbeat, her face against his skin, her eyes open to his, her mouth dry.