09.20.02
no one knows...
One was laying on the floor, in complete bliss.
The heat of the room served to tighten the planes and sharpen their dimensions. We ran chasing each other with balloons for rapiers and everlasting supplies of extra lives for this game. We charged shouting, "I am Inigo Montoya, you kill my father, prepare to die" and "There can only be one Highlander!" One would catapult herself over the castle wall to land comfortably on a disheveled bed, mussed from prior tries at storming it. Clothes flew through the air frighteningly heavy and bodies, lithe and glistening, were captured every second in the blinking. We collapsed onto each other from exhaustion and thirst, smiling and only wishing to do it again for all that hurting in our stomachs.
Then in the soft sand we stood watching as the currents raced and rushed over each other as in a game, creating crests that crashed down to spray mist into the air high above. They played like children restless waiting to burst from their bodies in joy. The tide kissed our toes gently from far, still feeling the droplets as they fell on our bodies. The moon presided over this December night proud and full of health and goodness. Tonight the rabbit was making motchi upside down. The white light caressed us and every curve of the sand, making it sparkle for us. It hit the water with so many jagged edges to make it solid and so dwarfing, welcoming, spritely. The energy was building again and bubbling up to spring, effervescent from out mouths as we howled to this night never to forget, rattling our chests with deep vibrations and hoping to run out of air in the process.
At home the blankets warm and white covered our bare bodies with soft touches of cotton and the milk, so white like our moon and motchi, soothed our restless energies. Sugary cake only served to quiet us to a stupor on the couches, draped over one another. We were pillows, and soft ones at that. The dryer shrunk our clothes that night. It didn't matter.
shi-ou-sama at