They loved with door and windows open, cool of linger from last March-storm reaching full into heart of room, gray of a mist and sodden sky that carried still the songs of birds in wake, and in center of the oaken home, they lain together in blanket wrap; cool of the storm, scents that it carried—dampness, grass, and beauty-blooms—sensing in their surround.
Within the blanket-wrap, here body held and covered same, close of their press, close of their hold, love in intimate and gentle way; softly as the rainfall and gentle kisses that, as rainfall overcast, countered in clarity-glow—eyes and skin and delicate-lovely of sensing through and in-between.
Coals in the hearth were mostly gray, though in their heap, orange-tinges glowed, brightened when a soft wind swept through opened door’s frame. They listened to the crackle, pop of trying flame, focused further on their own in temper and keep between.
Gentle love, tender and slow, intimate in speak of kiss and eyes, tongue-rolls to match of hips’ and bodies’ same—love-language shared and signed, spoken, in true and deepest way—glowing in love-hold clarity.