Last week we were lying on the grass, our heads were inches apart. She, the wonderful nymph of my heart, she called me here. She had been to a party and she said she couldn't unwind so she made me lie there with her. All she did was wind me up. It was too much, I wanted to touch her, wanted our fingers to intertwine and lock together. Her hair mingled with mine, one hundred and sixty degrees apart from each other our minds melded at the center of the angle. But all we did was stare at the stars, the clouds, the dripping moon; all I wanted was love.

This afternoon I grabbed at the carpet in her house. It was the only anchor I had. It was all too much, I could feel myself burning with this overload of everything. Her house, her furniture, her her her. Everywhere. Lying back I tried to sink myself into it. She came from the kitchen, her dark rose dress falling like rubies from her skin. Her dark lashes smiled at me from under that mascara. Too much makeup has never attracted me, but her mascara and lipstick... It does something to me and I grasped at the carpet and tried to stay put. She sat down, bottle in one hand, glasses in the other while the dress pooled over her legs.

A moment ago the cool wine glass brushed my cheek as I swept it past, inhaling deeply. I touched it to my lips I ran my tongue across the edge guarding the last drop of the last mouthful. I didn't want it because I knew that it was the last of the bottle, I wanted it because I knew that as soon it was gone I would have her lips on mine and all that held her at bay was the candlelight and this dark red secret in my glass. My eyes drank her in as I filled my mouth with the wine and I wondered how did I find this magic wonder with dark eyes and wonderful secrets?

Now, right now, wonderful, dark and sensitive our fingers are locked together and our cheeks are burning and brushing. I want to know how can I contain all of this as her lips touch against mine again and then I move mine down her neck and across her collar bone. We haven't touched, not like this, not ever. Shivering in its delight she laughs like the witch she is, beautiful and pealing like a bell. The single candle is still alight and I watch my fingers course over her skin because I cannot imagine that those are my hands and that it is her skin that I am touching. Flickering light smooths out the world. She is wonderful and together we are magic.

With help from a wonderful person.