In living, I grew to learn there is often small distinction between divinity and damnation, holiness and sin; and that often—of the same act—an outcome may be either: all from beginning spirit in which an act is made.
Is it done for self? Is it done for another? Is it done in celebration of Life, God, Creation in Itself? From our state of acting spirit flows after consequence and sense.
If it is meant and comes from Love, in desire to share, express, and commune in spirit with another, I believe little ugliness can be found—no matter how perceived by judgments of convention. For in Love exists the essence of life’s purpose; so easily confused, obfuscated, forgotten, or denied until Truth returns to clear and simple sight, manifesting in lived acts expressed in mind, spirit, and form.
If originated from Love, there is always a beauty—when we learn to see Love in all the ways it is—just as, when done for greed, lust, or want for self before all else; an ugliness lies ever-present, sensed, even when unseen.
The following is of Love.
*****
She welcomed him with openness and invitation, with smile that shone like morning ray through dawn-suspended dew—warming all within the focus of her light. To her warmth, he was drawn.
He raised her to rest upon table’s edge and, in kiss began, her lips communed the warmth witnessed in of her smile, and were dampened with a wetness that burned away, same as dew, in the waking heat of morning world. Balanced on table’s edge, she encouraged him further; legs spreading, wrapping, pulling him nearer and closer as hands began in touch and search to kiss’ setting pace.
He laid her low on the floor across face of Persian rug that cushioned from beneath, her body becoming further detail to a tapestry of beauty that guided eyes to hold and stay—drawn in an attraction.
They made love with a gentleness and depth as bodies and spirits opened, accepted—became—in oneness. Feeling her near, he raised her to her knees and broke her sweetly in flare of sense across soft, pale skin saved from avarices of sight and sun. With each love stroke, her pale, bared breasts brushed faint against the threaded weave beneath—a sense that flashed with each soft strike that jolted her as he drove her, atop Persian spread as her hand reached and braced behind, encouraging him deeper and stronger until control and body failed.
He rolled her then again to back, eyes fixed to sight of him above in prismed backlight scattered through unguarded windows absent shade or blind. He gazed at her beneath, her boundaries of pale and tan: where world touched and changed; and what remained of her as secret—saved for expressions and acts of love.
He cradled her with arms that wrapped beneath, pulling her close and tight to him as he broke in his own giving.
They rested in their after on the comforting tapestry of colored spread in the open light of the room. From each, soul-rays smiled emanant from eyes and lips—opened with upward curling corners.
They lain in illumination, bodies awash in glimmer of gold and silver light refracted in dew beads of post-love sweat. In the ray-band light of morning sun and warmth of after-love, they embraced—entwined—in morning glow of an almost-perfect world.
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