Misty Is Her Way – Part One

“She would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on.” 

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I felt light traces of her fingertips, leaving a trail of pleasure long after they found other parts of my landscape to wander. My breathing slows, mind numbs, and a creeping satisfaction, like morning mist rolling down the hillside, fills every low place of my mind. The lows of sadness, footprints of giants pocketing my memory, cupped every delicate drop of her. These lined with the nature and nurture of excruciating experience, crushed me like shells on the shore, the pounding driving me into smaller and smaller pieces. Ah, but the mist of her touch, brought healing in the haze. The troubles disappeared as I soaked up the attentions and affections of her spirit, bringing me to life with her touch; watching as it swallowed my world in dancing swirls of natures skirt, a skirt of billowing softness, gently unveiling all her nakedness. Me, I am ravaged and barren, a scorched desert, but full of life, a life that stung, bit, and poisoned all potential for happiness. It is amazing how close to pleasure, pain is. It is possible to confuse the two, in fact, I counted on that to escape the dreary confines that echoed with the chains of my captivity.