Her touch is a cool sweep that elates my skin and makes it lean forward, seeking more. Her pale eyes glow with a clear light that seeps into my bones and wraps around my soul, binding me to the spot in which I lay. These chains that entangle me are not of metal, but of warm, dark flesh. Her limbs forbid my retreat, her voice sedates me into a fantastic lull of body and mind. Only a few words and I can feel the dazed, stupid film fall over my eyes. Oh how her hands wring my neck, choking the voice, that I must have had once, out of my cadaver-like body. I am not a man any more. I feel no heat nor passion for others that would once have made my blood boil and my body quake. She is my drug now, the air I breath is synthetic, carefully concocted by she who breaths it into my empty body. Oh but how I love it, so. How I can not wait for when the night is upon me, when I can watch her as she creeps out of the new shadows. Each night she is reborn again with the death of the sun and the arising of moon. Her eyes are of stars, swirling spheres of incandescent fire that burns me to my core, leaving nothing un-scorched, and nothing un-lit. She is born of the dark, and she gives me light. Each night I lay with her, our bodies trying helplessly to become one, though I know that it is a useless act. How could someone as unclean and impure as I ever hope to hold such light without shattering into a heap of bones and dust. How could a man such as I hold a dark skinned beauty as this woman and not accept the fate that surely awaits me for my blasphemy of corruption.
How I long to keep her in my arms. I love the feel of her pressed agains myself. With every tremor and hitch of her body I feel my bones break, my muscles snap, my spine bend. A single swipe of her hand sets my limbs aflame, while the touch is cool and cold. She can not be described in mere words. The awe that is felt when one beholds her is that which should be studied for life-times. Her voice is the commanding note that I could not bare to disobey. To hurt such a creature as her would be to kill all that is and could ever imagine to be good in this world. She is the end as well as the beginning. Reborn each night, she will never be sullied, never impure. Her language, if she does have one, is as silent as the night sky. A soft, not-there humming is the only thing that can be hear from her slender throat.
I am unmade each night. My limbs turned to stone but her thoughtless caress, my eyes burnt out from gazing into hers. My throat ran dry and cracked, made useless by the wordless pleas and invocations of her name during our short time as one. That is the most painful time. Not form my body, simple nerves and cells that could once feel such simple things as pain are far gone by this time. No, with the dawn breaking the peace of the dark in the sky, so is it echoed on my Goddess's face. Oh how I mourn her when I see the slits begin to form on her smooth face, the shining dawn light breaking out from somewhere inside her and her beautiful flesh is lightened and pealed back to form a blazing underneath. Slowly my goddess is shredded and ripped to pieces, her cool bloody flowing steadily stronger until it soaks into my stoned-flesh and pools into the sockets of my eyes. With thins my life begins again. A small touch of the fire-beast's hand and my heart begins again, trying to break out of its faulty cage and rush towards its true lover. But she is gone and will stay that way until the darkness comes back and the night draws near, when the fire woman flees at the birth of my beautiful one. Oh how I loath time when my eyes will burn out once more, for I can never gaze at my loved one long enough to be truly content.
