“Nature creates and takes away,” I say wistfully to Loki, watching leaves fall gently from the trees.
“No, dear love. Nature simply is and holds no perceptional motive.” His chin rests on the top of my head.
“A process.”
“Yes.”
“I am a process.”
“How does that feel?” he asks.
“Better.”
Him in my breath as I say his name.
“Loki…”
My kisses land all over his body, his hands in my hair, gently tugging my head to look up at him. Still, my impulse is to look down from his gaze. My heart flames holding eye contact with him.
“The moon, the moon, the harvest moon is so wildly gorgeous,” I tell him between swollen lips.
“Full like you are,” Loki says, and I lean into his large hand, nuzzling like a kitten for his love.
“Sing for me?” he says.
I sing a song I don’t know the words or meaning of, but I feel the deep pleasure in giving voice to something of his.
Naked under the moon’s face and him.
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