Where is it?
Where have you hidden it— her shimmering, foggy thoughts mused although displeased.
Hesitant, like a boat not immediately sailing off into the sunset: He was like that. His being was simply... wandering around, his breath everywhere. Lost, he let her plunder and take all what she saw. Yet, she felt his gaze on her back and she felt his wind all around her, even though not quite close enough. Watching, without telling her to stop. So she kept plundering plundering, searching: That stolen dignity from that one mystic bug-lit night; where —where is it? How could she have let down her guard, how could she have let him run with it in his silent marble heartbeat?
His nose moved — so soft and sparkly as they were adorned with shining-in-the-moonlight whiskers that she loved to look at — touched her cheek. She couldn’t see them shimmering like the reflections in her eyes anymore, but felt them tickle her skin as she pushed back against his weighted caress. It was bare, source-less affection —But affection still. Through white’s, blue’s and dancing polka-dot walls she let herself be carried away by the urge when, at last, he seemed to want it as much as she did. What is left of it now? As his nose traveled and pressed against her, she let her thoughts of whiskers go and found new ones of warmth and passion.
(As he watched her back she turned around, realizing that perhaps he had lost some of him, too.)
Fine, keep it then.
But guard it; keep watch over my treasured dignity, since I can’t tonight. Not tonight.
Because she felt his wind, blowing blowing —pushing against her as the force increased and at some point embraced her so, that the only thing left for her to want was to become the wind itself, too. And she moved her head from the gap behind his cheek. Instead, she curled her neck to nestle it under his throat. Because here there was shadow, here she could relax. Here... her muscles loosened themselves as the darkness of the world became clear before her eyes. It was like that before she closed them with a sigh and let Mauja’s scent sing its way into her head.
Even though just momentarily, in his shadow she hid away, like a lost candle on the basement-floor, for that was something she never had; shadow. She was always in the light. Haloed by her faith. —But faith, right now; please let me be, as she hadn’t felt herself in the center, the heart of the light as much as right now.
The cracks in him (in her)... It didn’t matter at this moment, for whatever broken and lost pieces there were; they were all neatly glued together to be… well, perfect by the blue paste. Which was fine: Which was enough. She would let herself become the wind, for tonight; be with him — Even if just for a little while, so that her tensed mind could release itself from the worldly pressure she abstractly felt. Letting go of logic and sense, making place for desire.
His muzzle had found its way into her mane as her lips adoringly nibbled the fur on his back, trailing her way from one dot to another through his thickening orangemoon-coat. Yet, his warmth was there, finding its way past his nose, through her fur and rising up into her cheeks... —while all the rest of the world swiftly moved past her in some kind of blur as it spun in circles in the background. "Then take me."
Her eyes were looking into some place hidden for the world of reality and she smiled as she did. “Fool, ” she teased the cliche that had come from his mouth as she let her curled striped neck lean against his shoulder. But gently, her voice soft and appreciative, because this night she would be one as well.
She felt elegant and fine as she pulled the weight, which her lazy head was, off him, started to slowly move past him dragging her long ivory tail behind her. She felt good, graceful —like... really graceful, while her hooves slowly marked the ground around the marble statue that Mauja seemed to be. She walked around him to find his nose again at the finish line and maybe more than that. "Then... let's be the wind," she whispered, muttered drunkenly into his ear.
Taking him. With her. To...— To wherever wherever was to be.
Because she had basically concluded that the morning didn’t matter, for she craved his presence, his touch. It was as if her heartbeat was singing some kind of rhythm and she couldn’t keep up, but she didn’t seemed to care, still danced; danced, until she fell down, fell of the edge through azure clouds... so that she could find a soft place to land.
the end :|
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[O] We fly as high as the flame will rise
