In Love With Greensleeves✔️

Chapter Five: Melody, Sensation & Song

Differentiate melody and song. Define melody. Define song. Now, analyze the two. A question may arise, how can anyone differentiate the two? Simple. A melody is a carriage. The song is the passage.

Coagulated, melody and song become a carried passage of symbolism. Any many cases, opposed from music, melody and song are pertinent to life and it's glories. If one is not careful they will miss their song and undoubtfully, never discover their rightful melody.

I've learned this valuable lesson through my days, weeks, months, and years of being with Michael. I never knew I owned a feasible song, until he showed me his melody. The melody of his smile. The melody of his kind words. And even the melody of his sweet touches.

These two weeks, reeked of the burden of not hearing that beautiful melody. I hate when he shuts me out, because the music stops. No sweet ballad can construe the sacred love of Michael and I. No ballad other than our own.

He forgives me. I mistakenly chipped the record, but still he forgives me. Such a beautiful delicate soul he is. How could I have hurt him? None of that matters now, the record is being played.

Slender fingers make use of themselves, slipping my dress overhead. Trampled feet follow each other up the annoying staircase. Kisses and mumbles fill the hallway as we desperately try to find a proper room.

"I-I love Zora, Miss Greensleeves, Birdie... I love you" He whispers between a deepened kiss.

My heart flutters, my stomach steadily tying knots. He loves me. He still loves me.

Nibble fingers tug at the button of his flannel, what nuisance they are. The eagerness is shared between both parties as we finally manage to take a break and stare. Into each other's eyes we told and sung. He sung his melody and I gave him the rhyme.

That's the funny thing about love and life. There's always a duo. Whatever the item or symbol is, there can't just be one without the other. There is no Birdie without Michael. There is no Michael without Zora.

Resumed. Palms grip at my waist, a low groan escaping his parted lips as he leans for another kiss. Sighs if satisfaction only intensify this moment.

"You're beautiful girl. Damn... You're beautiful" He smirks, momentarily moving away.

I watch him carefully, unable to respond. Michael is a mystery. He loves keeping you on your toes. He's not laconic, therefore all of his gestures are physical. You have to read between the lines.

Right now, I just want him to play along my lines.

"Baby... I-I need you" I whimper, still eying him carefully.

Rarely am I ever submissive. I love bing in control, but there's something about allowing Michael to have a sense of masculinity in intamacy, that drives me insane. I don't mind him being in control, I actually love it.

Almond eyes reflect from the sun as clothes are slowly shed. Not knowing what to do, I mirror him. Stripping bare together. All the while I wonder what he's thinking.

"What do you want from me Birdie?" He asks, slowly approaching.

"Nothing, nothing at all"

His eyebrows lower. I'm sure he expected something different. Still he approaches, his eyes dancing along my body.

Dear lord, this man.

"Nothing? I can't give you that" He halts, his gaze now on mine.

I dare step closer, allowing our chest to inhale aside each other.

"Then give me you"

Simple answer, that has evidently drive him crazy. A smirk spreads his lips before they are placed in mine. The nape of my neck, my wrists, my fingers, my shoulders, his tongue and lips tickle upon.