It's Saturday, and I haven't even made the coffee yet.
Your fingers linger on my lower back, barely touching. But I feel you, more than just the soft caress of fingertips on skin.
Your odor, musky with a metallic tinge, a lingering scent of dried sweat, masculine, strong.
It's rare that we have these moments.
A vague memory pulls at my mind, and then as quickly fades. A separation, an intense, burning longing a million miles away.
But the moment is over, and I roll to the side of the bed, pulling on jeans crumpled on the floor.
I hear you grunt a small irritated sound.
But I walk to the door, a small irritation as reaction to yours. You can always go longer, one more time, but I have things to do, and I'm satiated already.
Is it ending? I wonder, not for the first time.
I stand among the tall limp reeds in the stagnant water. Four men push the ship, a boat really, further into the river, muscles gleaming with salty water and exertion.
The one with the sandy hair, and slightly crooked nose is the one my eyes follow. A slight smile unconsciously touches my lips, physical memory of the night before.
I've barely slept.
The trading party is leaving, and I will never see you, or feel you, again. Those hands that strain against the ship, they slid along my stomach, my thighs only hours before.
But such is the way of life, to come together in a bright, excruciatingly short burst, then to part before the light even fades.
All we are left with are memories, ingrained in our skin, in our bones.
The women towel me off as I step from the steaming, scented water of the bath the size of a small pool.
It is my night, and I am dressed, gold anklets and bracelets, lapis lazuli around my neck and thin, sculpted navel.
As I am escorted slowly to the main chamber, various looks of jealousy and a few of relief follow me from the eyes of the other wives.
I steel my mind, shut out my faint disgust and indifference, and regain control of my expression and stance after a tiny break of character.
My eyes subtly seek the doorway. And you are there, dark, scarred skin ringed with ceremonial armor, staring forward with blank eyes. Wax candles cast shadows, eerie against the plastered, painted walls.
As I approach the yawning black entrance, your eyes finally move, piercing directly into mine. A hair's breadth of time, less than a second, but the light of our eyes that emerge from the depths of our souls, link and hold for that eternal instant.
I tear my eyes and heart away, and leave you standing alone.
The star burst into being.
We are one.
I am the South, you the North.
A toroidal loop, the magnetic lines of our shared soul going in and coming out in a dance that goes continuously on.
Through the ages, we birth planets, moons, clouds of ionic dust. Until we don't, and our atoms are scattered through millions of miles of space.
I don't know it now, but I will see you again. With another face, and call you by another name.
It's Saturday, and I walk up the wooden stairs, balancing two coffees. I grimace at the bitterness wafting up-you always like it black, me, with milk and sugar.
I set the mugs down, and slip out of my clothes for a shower. I glance at the bed, but your head is turned towards the morning light, streaming in from the open window.
You turn your face towards me. I am about to head for the shower, but the spark in your eyes catches mine.
It is more than a spark, it is a light. The light that projects from somewhere inside.
I leave my jeans crumpled on the floor.