She saved the stories for beginning and end—set of spirit for day and dreams. Unknowing what they’d say, unknowing what they’d share, her only was to feel something: a resonance of way in soul, a seeing as she did, gifting temperament and focus of sight upon a same-soul see.
Morning quiet then, she read in rest at island place. Charcoal cardigan she wore as coat in day before, she wore then as a robe in morning dress and cover, sharp low fall of its taper-front giving sign of her nakedness beneath, a covered free and open as autumn woods of which thought.
She read the story. She felt a feel. Warmth and smile, he was there. She remained in thought, in rest and her place, in bathe and wash of the morning, yellow light.
Feel of his hands to her low in seat, her shift, draw of the cardigan fall from tuck and under-cover, soft raising, his hands under sweater’s loose, in hold to her curve and shape; weave and press of the wicker seat lightened as he lifted; her brush of her hair with left free hand, head’s lean to side in follow, neck’s wait and welcome for his kiss; love-gentle of his greet.
It’s gift, warm to her morning skin, as light through front door’s frame. Slow, deep draw of breath in expanding; warmth’s outward flow from center.
All of a story, resonance of soul, setting spirit of day and dreams.
(PART II)