Thundering Passion

Ah, his fingertips ran down the coolness of my cheeks, and a
thousand Banshees of passion giggled to his fingers passage. His
fingertips:
               
               WARM.

                         SOFT.

and now meant for only me, stirred up storms of passion as he
traced my lips with his fingertips.

               FINGERTIPS:

Soft and warm, they belonged to this man who had swept me off
my feet, carrying me here, to this cottage of my youth, with
nothing more than the passions I had found deep in his eyes. A
passion of wanton need and desire, unhindered by the world that
seemed to go about its way in melodies of utter discord.

I looked deep into his eyes, to see they danced to the song being
sung by the crackling fire, a fire which now cried out from deep
in my heart as well as from the old, stone fireplace placed in
these old walls so many years ago.

     FIRES AS SONGS,

                    PASSIONATE TOUCHES OF WARMTH,

Was it the creation of but the fires contained in the mound of
stones and mortar? Could it be the creation of he, who had come
here to my side to create me from deep within myself? What was
this creation of his mind by which he softly whispered out my
name? Was he as full of needs as this naked woman standing so
naked before his eternal gazing?

A storm of nature, haunting the nocturnal countryside that had
been mine in my youth. A storm of nature beyond these walls
and, in my mind’s deepest corner, a storm of another nature
touched by, and fueled by each soft moan cast from these lips of
such grand needs. I was to become his as he became mine, both
taking the other as wind, thunder and lightning locked away our
storms from all who might see.

Ah, the wind, whipping through fields of tall grasses, pushing
against these ancient glass panes as if she, the tempest of the
night, was but trying to enter the warmth which now reach out
to surrounded my naked body. Was it her, the wind I had once
ran so freely with, who now demanded in windy shouts to share
what her old friend had brought to this tiny cottage hidden from
all who might see?

Did she wish to know but his name, then be off on her nocturnal
adventures through meadows and forests? Did she wish to
embrace him with her vaporous fingers, fondling both his naked
body and naked mind? Would she, my old, unseen friend, try to
pick him up from me, carrying him to the tumbling clouds so far
above? And, if she did such a magic feat, would her laughter
forever haunt me with the song of what she had stolen?

A thunderstorm, cast into the night by a God who could not
sleep. Thundering footsteps, crashing from rain-soaked clouds
so far above the swaying trees of this night. Thundering moans,
the wetness of the night and of my own being, both blended into
my mind as a swirling memory cast into time.

          A THUNDERSTORM...

The creation of water, wind and the thoughts of demons without
names. From what sort of creature does the storm find creation?
Is it from a God, or Gods who have nothing better to do? Or, is
it by creatures of myth, now looking for their own lovers in this
night, who howl out their magical songs from tall pine trees
outside this house? Yes! Creatures of myth they must be, now
crying out their songs of surrendering with voices as loud as
butterfly wings in their passing.

I kissed his fingertips as Banshees cooed to the misty touch
holding my body as if by but a magical thought. He was
softness. He was firmness. Yet, he was a man who, by his eyes
alone, had cast this spell of passion into my unseeing heart. My
heart pounded as his fingertips stroked the softness of my hair.
My heart, even in that moment, pounded out to whomever or
whatever would listen to my deepest thoughts. In the instant of
the birth of these thoughts, the thunder did answer that, yes,
somewhere in this night’s wind, rain and fire were listening to
what song my heart moaned out.

I looked deep into his twinkling eyes, and nature painted the
rain-streaked window panes with her bright, flickering passions
as, with soft steadiness, he lowered me to the wooden floor of
this tiny cottage I knew so well. Kisses upon fearful lips, casting
universes with but their warmth into not only my heart and mind
but, yes, even into this tiny dwelling, sitting upon this tiny hill,
overlooking the tiny forests that hides a tiny brook from all but
me. A tiny place surrounded by tiny places but, when all put
together, the tiny places reach out and made a universe for this
man and me.

I closed my eyes, but lightning flashed as I saw his eyes peering
at me from beyond my closed eyes. A flash of light and my
universe has been awakened to the needs I could not understand.
A crash of thunder invaded my mind then, once secure within
my thoughts, chased after the thundering in my heart, blending
with my heartbeats as if but sighs from butterfly lips.

               A SIGH?

No! A sigh it is not! This is the sound of the surrendering of
these thoughts and needs, and even of this life of mine. Here
was the surrendering of this body to the touch of fingertips as,
with their touching of magic, they created this universe for but
me. Yes, was magic for sure. The magic of being alive, the
magic of being at one with this man and this world which, far
beyond the safety of these stone walls, found cloud battling
cloud.

Storms of passion, now crashing at my breasts as if waves
lapping against distant shores with their wet thoughts of
conquest. Storms of nature, singing out to this new universe
from clouds above. Storms, The essence of life. Life: The touch
of raindrops upon long, slender blades of grass, and his touch
upon my heaving breasts. Storms of nature and storms of the
body, both forever crying out for what must forever remain
unknown.

THUNDER!

                         LIGHTNING!

                                   WINDS A HOWLING!

                         THUNDERING THOUGHTS;
               
               CANDLELIGHT SO SOFT...

All blending with the crackling fires roaring from within both
my most inner soul and the fireplace set into the stony walls of a
tiny place that had caught my dreams in my youth.

The warmth of a wooden floor, heated by firelight and the wet
passions gripping my body, all now a part of this storm-swept
night. His lips upon my breasts, and both nature and I moan out
our delights to this night. Softly he kissed upon my burning
flesh as, with tear-clouded eyes, I offered my nakedness to him,
the firelight, and even onto the creator of the storm outside.

The house shuddered from a crash of thunder, and my body
shuddered as his kisses moved downwards from my lust-filled
bosom. My skin, now awakened from too long a slumbering
wept for only more of his kisses as feelings I had long forgotten
stirred, stretching their arms of thought out in awakening. My
lips gasped to this man as, from tall pine trees, the winds gasped
out to its lover the night.

DOWN...

Forever downward, his kisses taunted my mind which had all
but forgotten the delicate feeling of damp lips and warm breath.
Ah, yes, forever downward, just as the falling rains outside, his
lips danced over my wanting skin, creating one who had become
more of me as I was awoken from my slumbering bliss.
Downward with the soft song of the fire and the “pitter-patter”
of rain falling upon the wood-shingle roof so very far above my
head.

Between my thighs he rained forbidden kisses upon my very
being. Yet, what can ever be so very forbidden when, with love
in one’s eyes, love is given so sweetly in but a kiss? How might
love be so sinful when given so sweetly? When might it become
forbidden when, in delightful moaning, the man taught me that,
indeed, was as magical as it had been for the child I had grown
from? Were these the moans from my lips, or were they the
moans of my mind, carried upwards to dance with the tumbling
myth hidden from all to see on this night?

KISSES OF LUST;

KISSES OF LOVE. . .

Both offered to me by a man who, in the moment, became less a
man and more a human. He, a lover of my body, worshipping
me with warm lips and soft caresses. A lover of me, he moaned
out my name as his lips taught me to lust for even more of his
touching and kisses. His love was warm, his kisses so tender and
sweet as lavender as, with loud moans to the night, my hands
drew him even deeper into this universe of forgotten wants.

Was with screams of joy that I did sing to the fire that night.
Was with moans of ecstasy my lips whispered to the night as his
kisses- forever warm and true- carried me even further from this
world I wished to escape from.

SCREAMS OF PASSION. . .
                              
MOANS OF LOVE. . .

I had become free of me as his kisses entered my mind,
sweeping aside the long held thoughts that life was a sin in
itself. Sin was no longer. No! Not even a word to fuel the
thoughts of one who had come here to bid the winds of time to
teach her the chanting of the moon and thunder, of the songs of
the Nightingale and the Whippoorwill.

Upwards I soared, stopping to dance with the clouds as they
swelled, shrank and became anew. Past the clouds I did soar till,
in an instant of bliss, I reach out and kissed the Goddess moon
for but this delight she had sent to me on this stormy night. With
a sigh soft and sweet, I reach out and gathered all the stars onto
my breasts and, therein, I did name each and everyone with a
name beginning with the sacred word “love”.

Then, with his kisses again upon my breasts, he whispered to me
that the song of the fire was ever so true. He moaned out and the
stars drawn onto my breasts, evaporated in the heat of his
whisperings. But, from his eyes the stars did tinkle back to me.
And, upon nipples so long dormant, he stirred my needs to
awakening, as if they had laid dormant as a slumbering dragon
hidden in the pages of a book. Upon nipples he surrendered to
but this touch as my fingertips touched a tear cast from the
starlight of his eyes. Here was the greatest surrendering there
can be, when woman and man go beyond but being a woman
and a man.

We had been two before that moment, even as thunder without
lightening were we. But now? Now he became a part of me as
we became both the song and the music. We were now as the
flower and the sun as I held him in my arms, and he held me in
his. Deep in my heart I heard but a giggle as my mind whispered
out that, from this day on, he was there in my heart as surely as
I.

HE AND I:

Casters of this dream into the stormy night ...

HE AND I:

The two who had come here to find what passion and lust
cannot serve...

HE AND I. . .

Finding not but the needs of two bodies, but the needs of the two
hearts creating this wildfire from the wilderness of our passions.
Not from our passions did we find our hearts. Nay, was from our
hearts that passions did find life.

It was I who moaned out as his body became a part of mine. It
was I, this child and this woman, moaning out with their lips as I
pulled him closer to my breasts for but the magic he cast from
his lips. But, it was us- this man and I- who created from lust
and flickering firelight. I was us- a man and a woman- who cast
away shame to shed our tears to the soft eyes of the other.

Upon his lips now rode the fires I had sought. Upon his
fingertips did he teach me answers to the questions I had never
known. He was the storm, lashing at my body and mind with
whispered torrents of passionate loving. He was even the
flowers of the fields my mind had created. Not even the stars
above could now doubt the soft songs of his touch. Here, in his
arms and on his lips, passion thundered. It was the thundering of
creation now pounding at my very existence. It roared loudly as
it tore at my being, flooding deep into me, as it washed my mind
upon a distant shore I knew I would never return from

THUNDERINGS OF CREATION;

MOANS FROM HIS LIPS.

Screams of ecstasy he shouted out to the clouds who, from my
lips, already knew his name. Screams of want; Screams of
needs, all cast to the swirling night so long ago. Yet, his screams
were not the screams of the conquer, nor the screams of a
surrendering of he who was now conquered. Did he not know
that, in the instant of his screams that blended with my life, life
was again created? Could he have ventured to guess that, as love
blended with love, that life had been created from us on that
stormy night we shared in our first lovemaking?

Ah, and in that night, now hidden in veiled memories, I again
danced with the flowers of my youth as dreams unfolded in the
moonlight. It was on that night, so special and true, that I soar
past the storm clouds, kissing upon the Goddess moon my
offering of thanks for all I had found in that tiny place as the
storm brewed and churned all about. It was a night of shared
words that have never been veiled form this heart of mine. Yet it
was so much more than but words we shared as he touched into
me the spark of life, and I accepted the offering with tear-filled
eyes of his wife.