Sitting in the spa, and we're surrounded by empty glasses. The night is cool, and the air is quiet.

The city lights are far enough away that when we look up, it seems like God has a midnight cloak, and it's covered in shattered diamonds

I tip my head back and close my eyes, catching drops of cold rain on my tongue. You pour your champagne into my mouth and give me that mischeivous smile.

You tell me how much you love the Pleiades. I show you where Rigel and Betelgeuse are.

We watch meteors burn their way down the sky, and when I look at you I see the starlight bouncing off your pale, smooth skin, making you glow. The Moon is a woman, and she is you. Naked and glistening and smiling at me.

My hands find you, and draw moans and gasps from your throat, and we whisper beautiful things to each other.

It's a storm of moments that last for an indeterminate length of time. Because time doesn't matter anymore. The only thing that matters is sensation.


It doesn't last, because this sort of thing can't. But it is perfect unto itself, and when I see the stars falling, I come back to this place, and let the echoes of this memory reverberate slowly across my mind.

We were young and strong and sexy, and the night sky was ours.