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The Second Time: A Girl’s Perception
She spread sweet scented lotion between the place he loves most. There wasn’t
much she had forgotten. Her still drive and moistened plateau offered preparation
to her surrendering need. On the drive there she straightened and clinched the fogged distance
of his voice. All she needed was one word, baby. She could already feel her shirt and hair tangling,
and each strand falling to her shoulders made her pretty panties less important. He waited making
golden flame frames and mosaic arrangements of unconscious beauty. When the door opened, he pounced.
The spaceless kissing and night’s boundless shadow of warming light guided their hands to flesh and
clothes became loose. She could have bared everything quickly and wanted to. He sat with her on the
bed of soft sepia shades where her outline took his hands gently lacing off all that polished her shape
and her waves of hair traveled all the points his lips would touch. She watched him undress and kept
her eyes centered in thoughts of blending brook calmness.
She didn’t want him to use his hand this time. Their overlapping togetherness reaches beyond
the need of compassing direction. She reached it away and with her own hand, her second rested
thought, compelled their beginning. Beneath him she was air and bloom and horizons of daydream
breezes where silence ceases and misting waves of song begin. He, learning her body still,
glided with autumn sun sweetness and tasted each time she tightened the passage between them.
At times she was hovering wetlands of forgotten Cypress where vines climb to cloudless skies
and moist soil breeds wild gatherings.
She wondered where his satin streamed thoughts would take him and wanted to hear the taking.
In pauses and creases they relinquished as one and lay without solid thoughts of anything.
She grazed his back with love sodden fingers while he listened to her silence and their stainless
passion seeped through the cooling light that draws evenness.
Rachel Smith teaches writing for a community college and is entering her first semester at Goddard College
in Vermont for an MFA in creative writing. This is her first formal publication.
Email: Rachel Smith
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