It’s the early days of our romance. In some random hotel room on one of our many clandestine lovers’ weekends, we spent most of the time in our hotel room greedily exploring each other. Late Saturday night, we lay side by side breathing deeply, our sweat soaked bodies flung wide, gathering ourselves for another round of life’s most joyous dance. I stretched my leg so that my toes rested on his instep. As my skin touched his, electric pulses raced through me, from my toes through my legs and groin, all the way up to my head and back down. On the outside, I was barely moving. My body was a lacy ribbon waving lazily on a light summer breeze. Inside, it was as if the entire lava load of an erupting volcano were surging through my veins at incredible velocity. Every fiber of my being was shot through with light, like a time-lapse photo of car headlamps beaming down a dark roadway. I closed my eyes and let the blaze run. The familiar blackness behind my eyelids became a deep blue, vast, open, and welcoming.

Huge purple orbs float by, amethyst visions of trailing light. I lay in ecstatic wonder marveling at the beauty and the glory. When I moved my foot away from his, breaking the spell of our connection, the flowing stopped. When I touched him again, it recommenced. Experimenting, I touched our bodies together at different spots—chest to nipple, hip to thigh, forehead to forehead. Each joining made a bridge for the transporting energy stream. My heart opened. Love poured in with the fire. The laughter of bliss rose up from its flames.
Unable to speak, I could only whisper unmade sighs, silent “ohs” into the night. Like a kiss from God, the merging came, a melting, into him, the room, the city. We became rapture and love became us. I was him, and he was all rapture. When daylight found us, I was still flying high on love’s ardent wings. I stopped and tried to speak and nothing came out of my mouth just the silence of desire and fulfillment. I call these the lyrical conversations I had with him.

© ami jasho