A Collection of Stories

Bury the Hatchet

I reached out, but not so far as to actually touch her skin.

     Just close enough to see if she wanted me even a sliver of a bit.

 Testing a wild animal; I waited for the amber eyes to flicker down to my peace offering-like fingers, then to flicker back up in the burning candle motion--she was so much comparable to the contained flames. 

I waited for the piece of fringe to fall away from her face as she would subconsciously lean towards my hand--a sign she trusted some small part of me. Even if that trust only went as far as the distance between our skin--so close--now. 

     I waited for the want; wanted to end the wait.

   Eyes flickered. Fringe fell. Skin met.

A curious wolf, come out of her cave: tail tucked, ears pinned, nose sniffing--wondering. 

Her small hand came up to explore the skin around my neck, and around my nose, my mouth, my cheeks. 

My skin felt alive; burning trails followed behind her grazing fingers. 

Burning with not desire- nor any physical need- but on fire with the trust.

On fire and kindled by the way her amber eyes relaxed; encouraged by the way her head drooped into my palm further.

     We would not kiss with our lips tonight, but we would kiss with our hearts. She would let me get close enough to give her a piece of me, in place of the part she had lost before. 

     She clutched the back of my shirt--finger nails digging into my skin like knives. She anchored her fist on me like one would a hatchet in a tree. 

        I felt her bury her own piece in me, the greatest gift I could ever wait for.

Skin gleamed with the glow of her trust- enhanced by the light from the fire, transferred from the easy amber-eyes to the trails upon my body. 

            My body; her body.

Hands

Eyes

Hair

Hatchet

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-Blue