Exhaling

I lay dozing , dreaming really, at the cusp of wakefulness and being underwater, because dreams have that slowness about them, even the fast action dreams, everything is slow---and, when one is there, on the edge of the dream ice, ready to roll in and under, I hear the telltale sound of heels tap me away from the edge. I bolted upright and saw her: black sheened panties, black heels, black bra, she walked to the bed and slowly dove as if the bed turned to cream, thick and white and so was stopped from going under. I pounced onto her buttcheeks, biting, scratching her inner thighs, looking out of my right eyes corner at her right eyes corner, both eye corners staring, sleepily at the other, her shoes, black and shiny at the end of long pale soft legs, glided in the air, in a back and forth motion, dancing, I saw them out of the corner of my left eye as I buried my nose into her scent,she arches her back and I trace an exclamation point along the slit. She arches higher.I bite harder.I lunge for her neck, now I'm on her left side, her head turns to me, she is smiling.Her eyes look bigger than they are.Lips are fuller now. This is the case of all primates when aroused. I tell her this. She laughs and I graze my upper teeth against her spine, where I bite the panties off with one pull and with hands now more like claws turn her 135 lb. frame over, spreading the legs to an engorged pussy, pinker now, fuller now, I ask what she wants and strike with my torso , placing my face next to her face, playfully biting her lower lip then down , down,down, with a directness that elicits a gasp from her, I envelop her clit and lips and pull,right thumb glancing off the bottom of the clit, furiously, she begins to buck...she says I look sexy doing this to her, I smile there pressed against her swollen sex, she moves in tighter circles now, hips and mound of venus pressing into my face, harder as I flick faster and in circes, she moves as if her bones were filled with a hurricane, I open her reddened lips, edges the color of bruised violets, exposing the hood of her shiny, wet nub. It retracts as I caress it, lick it, all 8,000 nerves of it, sending out their "MayDay, MayDay", their Halleleiuias, their Amens, and she comes, the belly taut then bunched, the mouth a maw now, hands clasping my head moving in my familiar religious manner, she says shes cramped in her hip but wants me inside her and when I climb up, and slap it against her engorged humidity she pulls me inside her and its then I 'am aware , for the first time, ever, that reincarnartion is real.I see her eyes and I "know" as truth I have seen her soul before, she scratches and the pain makes me fuck harder, grinding into her, her lips are larger than I have ever seen them, her eyes all urgency, all hunger, delight in the knowledge she has found everything she has looked for.The poem made flesh, the flesh made a fire, the fire engulfed them both, from the loins to the mouths , biting and opening against hot skin, salt and fragrance, eyes connected by cords older than either of their countries, older than them, older than even books, even stories, and as they moved , he inside her and she around him, a yin and yang, as one, the past came up from below and settled, perched on the colors of their eyes.And, the animalness of it all forced him to position her on her knees as he entered from behind into her extraordinary tightness, an unbelievable silkiness, the musk of their union flaring his nostrils, and he moved with grace in and out of her, faster and faster , not trying to hold back, not thinking of a deterrent, letting go, being consumed by her as he also ate of her, motion in tandem with motion, past galloping with the present, animal with human, and even this, this part of her that determined her name, her identity, he knew that he knew its feel before, its feel , so unlike any other he had ever known and with this thought he erupted inside her tightness.And, the pain at the tip was too great and he exposed himself to the air as his wife collapsed onto the bed, her bones absent of any wind, any force, any violence, by all definitions:spent.He screamed a limbic scream, against the end of life, against the gamble of waking, and for the sheer joy being inside her brought him, for she was his fetish and icon and life. As his cum drip onto her pink and white cheek , he fell onto her, exhaling as if he had kept his breath inside for 40 times a million years.