Charcoal and chalk, 120 × 90cms.
In the corners of our sweaty palms, nested in the secret lines twisting bizarre and unique. In the softest inane creak as the bones in our fingers curl. Longing, have you felt it in the tips of your fingers, pulling at the flesh on the inside of your arms? Have you ever felt your muscles jerk – sudden and violent, overwhelmed for a moment by craving? Brutal.
It is a mundane magic – our own unconscious smile suddenly seen and caught, disarming and warm in a glimpsed reflection. As probability collapses. In the trickle of wishes at the back of our necks.
Beatific in hope; a frisson of what may be. If it might oh let it. This magic – a mute spell of touch…the spell of the never-seen small of our backs pressed against the warm belly of a lover.
It is as magical as the scale, the startling magnitude of hunger as we kiss and kiss and kiss. Lips hot slippery hot against our own. The immersion of lust… a moment etiolated a welcome trick of tongues that in this at least cannot lie – but it ends! – a click of white teeth on stained. Breathless and sudden and sticky. Saliva cooling on our cheeks in the night air.
The lock; the click of that skin pressed so easily with such lazy comfort.
I believe in never.
I believe in all the way.