Teardrops in a waterfall

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTSN8faTRwI

So many moons.  He remembered her. So many moons... yet... he remembered.

They had met in the fall. Life dying surrounded while the life between them came to life.  Change in seasons followed.  Suddenly caught in the bloom of flowers it should come as little surprise, it was nurtured in the spring.

  He was with the other on the floor, both furious actors in a passion play.  Actors desperate to have the love that fumed below to erupt from masks held so furiously tight. Afraid to feel totally knowing that it might bring back the pain devastating.  A primal payback for every pinnacle of pleasure reached. Perhaps her fell a bit... but his was held on so tight.

So tight.

That is when she entered.  Robe loosely tied around her waist.  Like an artist she clad herslef with the diminutive reveal.  It showed just enough to make his mind run wild.  Imagination is the most powerful aphrodisiac.  She knew.

"Cover your eyes," she said, hoping all the while he wouldn't.

He did. He said.  The gap between the fingers driven by curiosity intense however took him towards the gates of heaven.

The knot untied.  The robe slipped.  Her back bare was on full display.  As she had positioned herself in front of a mirror, not only did he catch the glory of the side, but the power of the front as well.  Passion twisted.  Passion turned.   

In her tiny pirouette of preparation, though each supple move, the slight twist, he was clearly able to capture everything:  soft moves crying for his touch, heat building as she placed herself on display.

It was almost too much.  Though glorious... he didn't know if she knew that there was so much more to the totally of her beauty.

The smile.

Curious sparkle in...

her eye.  She wanted to experience all.  She wanted to know all.  She was a tableau rosa waiting to be written upon.  If only he dared.  His slighted touch, his slightest mark, would forever make an impression she would forever cherish.  What do you know, she beckoned.  What can you show me, she dared.  Bold.  Brave.  Nothing could harm her.  She would laugh.  Scar tissue is so much stronger than regular tissue you know.  And every scar is merely a memorial that something that tried to destroy you failed.  She laughed.  She knew that when one got to heaven St. Peter wouldn't be looking for whole hearts... but rather those that encased in scars.  Ripped and raged though.  Scars were proof of a life lived fully.  Marks of those who dared.  Dared to be so open they could be damaged.  They could be hurt.  So be it. 

He would know when he bore scars of his own.  He wondered if she understood that...

...her scars...

and his...

were beautiful.

Teardrops

In a waterfall.