Softness

In a world of cherished pink and heavenly yellow, I come singing. But slowly softness begins to cling to me like my shadow. His hands titillate my nipples as I step out of the steaming, mysterious shower. When my bones move out of place, he gently refashions me like furniture. The air is as cool as silk, my dreams hot as rumor. My man, tall and stony, wraps me in velvet and lays me on a pillow of desire that melds to my body. Eventually it is as though I was always a cloud, beautiful, billowy, and threatening the earth with my crisp, glassy lightning.