I’m watching you turn somersaults in my kitchen with quickly increasing agility. The muscles in your shoulders coil briefly as you place your weight in your hands before lowering your upper back smoothly to the floor. You take up most of the room, as you do in all the small rooms of this apartment, but for me you would take up most of the space in a concert hall, looming large as the setting recedes into a blurred, suggestive backdrop, a compliment to the exquisite detail of the foreground–which is you.
My body is melting into the pillows, becoming the yellows and oranges and turquoise textures, rich and full; I examine my physical weariness and release my hold on my structures, savoring the sensation of falling deep into the earth as I lie still on the kitchen floor. You are exploring yourself nearby, and then with intentional suddenness you crawl across the room and position your body above mine. The effect is reptilian, and I experience rather than see a trail in your wake, like the serpentine twisting of a snake, so your impression slithers back and forth faster than my eye can follow even though you have taken a straight line through space. Poised over my reclining form, your eyes penetrate mine as you say It also does this. I feel the animal of your body and all the things it can do, I sense the power of it like a tidal wave behind a door. Looking into your eyes I watch myself watch you from the inside, or just behind you, hovering in the place in the back of your brain where awareness lives, pulsating there. The animal places its hand low on my belly, transferring warmth, energy, aliveness. You close your eyes astride my hips and now I can watch you become, your face changing shape with every breath, darker, sharper, something of the forest, freckles playing on your skin like rain, antlers growing like shadows from your hair. I feel with distinctness the organ of my womb, the shape of it, the heat, the vessel nature of it, calling. A seed burrows into the earth, puncture of roots, uncurling upward, the roundness of fruit. The light vibrates around you as I summon myself into myself, the edges of the room getting darker, deeper, my breath rushing in me like the ocean. It all makes so much sense, you say. You don’t know you’ve become King Arthur.
Do I speak? I don’t think so. I’m drinking deeply of the body of god, watching its eyes now turned on me, and it says, you can have sex with it, if you want, and it lowers its head and looks at me from beneath its dark brow, a glint of ancient chaos; it sends a shiver of energy running through my body. I’m thinking about this, many hundreds of layers of thought that I will never turn into words, and it seems as though it will happen, you’re between my legs and our clothes are partly off, but then there’s a pillow strangely between us and we end up collapsing giggling, our spell dispersing like little fish jumping. Turning my head to the side I see through the other rooms of the apartment to the vivid blue windows, day becoming night in a spectacular cerulean, mixing with the jungle green, the dark amber, the hot purple of the lamp. There is every color shifting imperceptibly and constantly, seeping in and out of that room. Look, I manage to say. Have you looked in there recently?
Queen of Elves 