July 5, 2014

The Dust Will Be our Love. ~ Andy Charrington

lovers in bed

The morning sun glistens through a crack in the closed curtains.

I watch the dust shimmer and glide in the blade of light and I remember the night before.

Both of us desperate for each other. A deep physical longing and fulfilled only by the touch of the other.

I remember the moans, the squeals of pleasure and the heaving of our bodies.

The sweat running down us, unable to find a way through our tightly clamped bodies.

I remember the words you whispered so softly. Words of desire, passion and vulnerability. Words kept only for me.

We looked in to each other’s eyes, our souls connecting as our bodies were. Deep and soft. With compassion, affection, tenderness and love.

I remember the last thing you said to me before you fell asleep on my chest: “I have never loved as I love you.” And I lay staring at the stars we had just created. I lay wondering what I had done to deserve such a wonder. Such a beauty. Such a woman.

As the dust in the room reveals its memories of the night before, it dances. It sings of the joy of two souls meeting. Of a destiny fulfilled. It smiles at me and says, “Yes. This is it,” and I realize my purpose.

You were what my creator had in mind. I was created in a shape that only fitted one other. With curves and dents and misaligned edges that would only fit to a single shape.


I turn on my side and see you sleeping, your face so calm and delicate. Your eyes so soft, your lips slightly parted, your naked breasts slipping out from under the sheets. I whisper to you, “You are all I couldn’t even have dreamed of.”

You wake slowly, your eyes blinking open. Your blurry eyes meet mine and your lips reveal a smile. You look at me with a gentleness and affection that warms my heart. That look melts all of my worries away. Clear, pure, beautiful.

You reach for my face and stroke my jaw. Your fingers trace my mouth, my chin, my nose, my eyes.

And you remember.

Your eyes take on the same look as the night before and look deep in to mine. Your hand curls towards my hair and you gently stroke me. You reach up with your neck and kiss me. A slow kiss that I want to keep forever. A treasure, an honor, a privilege not to be passed by.

Your hand moves down my back and mine down yours. We embrace like summer leaves to their tree. And we show the dust that we were not finished yet. That we have a whole lifetime full of moments like this.

The dust dances and sways. Sings and soars. Ripples to our rhythm.

The dust will keep my secret.

It smiles at me and strokes my face. It promises what could be. What might be.

The dust will be our love.



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Editor: Emily Bartran

Photo: Flickr

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