She could not set light to her room, nor could she fall high enough to make much sense of that solid sensation of moving not at all.
Each limb lead and the sound of echoes making no movement upon the walls and no sense–just vibrations that touched nothing.
So she enameled the floor ebony and coated the walls black, encased her bed in dark Egyptian cotton and flung across the canopy blackest velvet curtains.
She then invited him in.
Desire is a blindness; this he knew and despite the pallor of her skin, the blackness of her room he entered in, prepared for nothing.
He could not speak to her, he did not know how. He could not plead with her she could not comprehend sincerity.
So he stretched out his hands and embroidered the edges of the black velvet curtains with pearls of milky white and cast upon her ebony pillows the silver moonlight.
Upon the floor he danced and swayed over the darkness, a midnight blue in soft undulating waves, placing upon that cobalt stream small pinpricks of shining stars.
Upon completion of his wooing the stars, moon, and galaxies arose, sounding heavenly instrumental song.
She stood pale and small before the darkness of all light, naked and exposed from gloom of tomb to the vast universe just outside her room.
He placed a hand gently on her waist, held her hand and slowly waltzed about the ebony gates and out onto the clear floor of eternity.
Photo by John Moeses Bauan on Unsplash
