a bit of flesh in each of our mouths the rich terroir
Until no one could see the places they were hiding, they stayed so utterly still. Under the stars she embraced me, a bit of flesh in each of our mouths as one or the other bites, and bites back, slight tearing at the eyes, heat arisen from the earth and radiant inward to cupped genitals, twined fingers. And at last the tiny sunburst between us and the treeline, the others turned to stare, mouths apart in wonder. Eyes, whole faces gaping but nothing bitterly held back, no secret passed in courts from mouth to ear or shuffled by stockinged women into musty scroll-rooms inked into hidden histories. They circled the event horizon, baring teeth at the sight of us, small and fragilely appointed with lust, white against the great green grasses and multicolored flowers: speckled sweetgrass sea that swam with schools of pinks, barnacle bluebells, reefs of blackeyed susans. Us with our noses pressed alongside each other, flesh un-Edened bare to the stars, hands unsure what to do with each other their flight slowing and stilled by the laughter now mounting in the air. The sweet scent of multitudes frilled the night air, a damask of odor, gilding of lust on the rich terroir, the blackening space between us filled in with their voices only now returning to the dark, recovered from hearing of us. We rose slowly, pulled each other to stand and grasped hands as we turned to gaze at them, smiles gleaming all around.