you and me

Unleash That Wild Thing Beneath Your Skin.

The initial spark that caused the Big Bang within my being came from a look in your eye that was molten.

I’ll never forget that look. It was the first time anybody ever looked at me that way and I’ve experienced an array of the way eyes make connections.

It was a look so deep it seeped through my heart, burned by your branding iron — sending divine sparks down my spine like one of those chords one lights for dynamite… kaboom!

Full bloom — I craved you.

My body surged electric like a wild-ling with wings wanting out, scratching at the back of my skin. Out through my heart and soul surged magma — golden magma, divine up my spine’s circuitry.

When gold is purest, it’s liquid and flowing: that’s how I felt. As if inside entwining my spine were two thick and sparkling snakes — hot and hungry. Gorgeous, glamorous and slow-moving — but with the propensity to annihilate.

That gold sensation to perpetuate a sinewy, soft and seductive revelation — an animal like instinct to devour… you.

This dense intensity of such a sweet taboo.

Such an insatiably viscous feeling to be emerged in the throws of alchemystic sensation so pure and powerful — entirely generated by our own selves naturally, simply, spiritually… interacting. Chemically reacting.

Apart we are wonders of nature; together we are a force of it, hearts so electrified and energized that thunderstorms run with tails between their legs.

Thunder did — once or twice in the midst of our heart-meshed meanderings to emanate the power of these rich understandings.

The lucidity of the humidity of the rainstorms beaded our skins (mixed with sweat). Wet, our bodies swelled against each other with a perpetuating force that felt self-sustaining — and again, annihilating. Oh, that dense intensity of alchemy between you and me!

A sort of energy that tantalized and taunted saying: “Do it… I dare you. Unleash that wild thing beneath your skin. Let it sin!”

Sin so hard it transcends through to prayer! That’s what it did there that night sitting lotus on that foreign bed. Caught up in the heat of our body’s beats, ferocity between us — ensconced in sensuous prayer.

I held you within my being.

I caught a glimpse of us in the mirrors — our reflection — a sight of ignited perfection. The thought teased my mind: if it were possible to make love to supernovas and moonbeams, then surely this is how it appeared. Indeed this is what it felt like. So sexy.

The scene was entirely alien but in that oh-so-familiar and right kind of way: like candlelight and starlight and lightning strike.

I reveled.
We were gorgeous.
It does exist.

The intimate exchange of angels on earth giving birth to a whole new dimension of love in that alchemical perfection of the imperfection.

And in the falloff where our hearts collided, we resided. Smokey Taboo played on the radio: “I like to look up wild at an infinite sky, twinkling with diamonds…”, came the otherworldly tunes and lyrics of CocoRosie.

Her slinky beat, beat on singing in an operatic, etheric voice:

“In an infinite sky
Twinkling with diamonds
When first — our kisses sparked
Crystal heaven
This was crystal heaven…”

When the two of us found sound ground, we kissed it the same way we kissed each other.

We were a lightning-flash moment of gorgeous, striking an inch of ground that lit up an entire horizon.

Energy becomes power.

*****

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Kristi Stout

Kristi Stout

Kristi L. Stout is a loving spiritualist, inquisitive adventurer, and die-hard dreamer. She has been drawing and writing stories from the moment she could hold a pencil. The following is a compilation of various words, all of which Kristi dominantly associates with, but is not limited to: Lover. Mother. Daughter. Sister. Warrior. Goddess. Adventurer. Seeker. Poet. Do-er. Dreamer. Writer. Artist. Scientist. Existentialist. Spiritualist. Naturalist. Idealist. Realist. Unconventionalist. Tantrika. Romantica. Tears. Laughs. Defeat. Triumph. Ninja. Jedi. Unicorn. Queen. Servant. Soft. Hard. Sensual. Nurturing. Structured. Free. Challenging. Honest. Scotch-tape. Roses. Day-old cologne. Rain. The forest floor. Sand dunes. Black stallions. Silk. Aerial acrobatics. Emotion—every kind of emotion. You can find more of Kristi’s work here or connect with her on Facebook.
Kristi Stout

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