I lay in an exhausted daze, letting my heartbeat recalibrate, while my satisfied stare somehow picks up a game of “You blinked” with the half finished naked lady tattooed on his calf. The fact that this game always ends in an impasse suddenly makes me laugh.

He springs to his feet, like a young boy suddenly remembering where he cleverly hid last months’ allowance, an innocent wide grin on his still-flushed face. I watch him flounder, and then he finds the mini waffle maker and begins to cook us some highly underrated, heavenly sustenance.
We dine solely on this swollen Eucharist and each other during his visits, our sticky fingers granting each other absolution from our mutual sins.

After feeding our incessant cravings for each other, as well as our unpredictable appetites, I ritually arrange the various accoutrements as an offering to him. As our own form of divination, whereby our unspoken desires become manifest in the now and which awakens this primal fire within me and I begin to channel Lilith, pouring forth all she’s been forced to repress since the sweet tartness of Fall was tasted by patriarchal lips.

As we finally surrender to the intensity and slowly come down, intertwined in each other's arms, the sun breaks free on the horizon and I begin to understand why being caste out was a necessity given the immense power of our combined passion, along with the divine, would have been too much for one fledgling human soul to ever wield successfully.
© Buffy Lee