All His Strength

Posted on: Tuesday, September 9th, 2008
Comments: 0

His tooth felt loose and he moved it with his tongue. This loose tooth-tongue-push was his favorite meditation. It killed the empty moments of the day.

She said nothing making his fascination greater. He relished her silence. The stone still mossy smoothness of her quite. She did not open her eyes. He wondered how many lifetimes they could spend here, human lives, or perhaps, simply dog years.

He asked the usual question of himself. Would she wake to find him repulsive? boring? Would his character loose its magnetic pull? This was the thing that could knock his feet from below the knees. At any moment he felt sure his face would plunge into the grassy knoll, tasting the dense black dirt in his teeth. There was even a horrific chance, however slim, that his body might follow, chasing his head oblivious in the descent.

She rolled over and moved the back of her hand against her cheek. This was a good sign. She had not lost interest, though he could sense the trajectory, threadbare, futile, and worn at the edges. He could not help himself, skirmishing wistfully back and forth between the painfully familiar themes of their lives together.

Her lips were dried, near cracking. He wanted to help her dry lips, coddle them, hold them in his arms. Instead he whimpered slightly and nestled his nose into her hips. Then, drawn to the point at which the hip became the leg, he inhaled deeply and traveled his face along the long log shape of her. This journey calmed him completely and he fell gracefully to a quiet sleep.

Her hair was wet. She had dipped into the sea while he rested. She was still beside him, her lips now moist and soft. He wanted to chew on them. devour her as completely as he could. She often allowed this, but tonight would be a hard sell.

She rolled over and moved the back of her hand against her cheek. This was a bad sign. She probably was dreaming of someone thicker, longer, more taught. He had none of that, just his longing and fascination with her every crevice, pitch and valley. He ran his finger from her big toe along the top of her leg. Her foot jumped and settled again in the sand. He could feel the tips of her stubble. Women shaved the hair from their bodies, he thought. At once, that was all he was thinking or feeling, more than who she was or why he lay on the beach hoping for forgiveness in the scorching sunshine.

His temper had not flared for nearly a week. This seemed distinct and did succeed in lifting him. If he had practiced his kindness, kept it properly maintained, then this scorching in the sun would not be necessary, making the long wooden glances far easier to take.

All the sentimental banking and foolishness left him stiff and compromised. The net sum had left a decent dent in the sides of them both. This he never imagined, succumbing to the economic crunch of the other man’s fears. He bit down on his tongue in a familiar meditation.

She rolled and flickered her eyes open.

Nothing she could say would make him whole again. This was the end of what they had shared and all he could think to do was pound the earth with all his strength.

She leaned close, smiled warmly, and whispering a kiss into his eyes, sealed their fate.

c 2008 wonkles