Hope

Madonna: The Best of Ray Of Light

All you can do...

really...

is celebrate.

Present... as he said it, it was already a thing of the past.  But... the future... it's nothing more than a quicksilver gift, the past is gone.  The present, however fleeting, is all we have.

Prisoner of the past or pioneer of the future.  Whatever choice, we hurtle forward regardless.

It was a picnic bench.  A little faded, a little worn, it didn't matter... for that is where they sat.  He filled with the charge, the energy, what would happen next.  She was so close.  She waited.  She longed.  He waited.  He longed.  Where were they?  Did it really matter?  For to the two the world had collapsed into merely the one to the other.  Nothing else mattered.

Nothing Else.

Energy static had so built, between the two.  Kinetic forms longing for release.  The fire did nothing but burned even higher within.  Her thigh... so close.  The form... her perfection... so close.  So close.  So... close.  Heaven... so close... so far.  All it would take was a move.  A press.  All the while, the fire burned.  So hot.  So fierce.  In the inferno he longed to be lost, if only... if only she would accept.

Laughter.  He joked.  She laughed.  It only stoked the fire higher.  How he desperately burned.  Little did her know she desperately smoldered as well.  She longed to feel his touch, his rise, his press, against her.  So... close.  Using the cover... he moved closer.  Bodies seperated by a space infinitesimal... yet ... so distant.  The hard against her soft.  His push unrelenting.  The two; made one... if only... if only.

  He had tasted her burning fruits of passion only the week before.  Should he long for the heaven found in her kiss?  Would she accept?  Would he fail?  The price was too great.  The risk of rejection too high.  But the reward... to be lost in glory... it was too sublime.  Heat, slow burning built in her lips.  He looked, at something, anything, in the distance.  For courage, to build.  Would she want?  Did she?

Meanwhile, heat... rising from its ember earlier in the night... had gown into a fire unquenchable.  The longing... the desperation... so close... so far.  Meanwhile the present, by friction caught, slipped in staccato into the past.  Longing... burning to emerge...

into the celebration.

He must... he thought... turn and draw with a burning touch along the side of her jaw... so strong... so wanting... so waiting.  The snap of a burn electric with a contact crating  the perpetual burning energy... the draw along the jaw.   Pulling toward... as his head pushed in... to taste... to be lost... in the inferno... of the passion.  Shared unabashed.  Building.  Touches... building.  Desire... building .  Hair pulled... building.  Neck devoured... building.  Hand seeking hidden places... building.

Love...

building.

Hope...

building.

For a moment...

the world collapsed into the two.

And that is all that mattered.

Hope.