The Weaver of Heavens

She had hands that could weave the possibilities from the most ordinary of days. She could take me in her hand and she could take me to places I had only ever seen in the strangest of my dreams. But when she took me in her mouth, she could take me beyond even those dream landscapes into worlds I had never known and into the shapes of existences that seemed to lie far beyond the world of promises. Even a religion could not have made promises of a heaven like the one she took me to - with only a few deft flicks of her tongue and movements of her lips - beyond the secret kisses of all the lovers there have ever been.

Her body could dance all the movements of love and weave all the wants and needs of everyone’s desire; she could take me into a moment beyond remembering to breathe.

She could twist the night into endless hours of slow and sensuous movement that could take my body on journeys through the sides of this world, beyond the edges of the possible and into realms where everything becomes the kiss of body against body and the delicate trace of lips along skin.

She could do more than merely make love; she could create a world out of nakedness and need, of want and desire. She could bury me under her body as though she was a mountain and drown me in her seas as easily as she could make me fly through her skies to visit every moon and star in her heaven, all before the dawn came and found us sleeping there, side-by-side in her bed.