Kiss Me To Death

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He lay upon the lawn; the shore-line grassland squeezed silently under a lissom breeze. In small chintzy rivulets, calm purls of meadow-wood philtres paled forth into the basin of a laky vale.

The Southern Fjord of Emmore stood, vast, in its opening into the Fields of Seas. Clouds, like ships grazing upon the riffled sunlows of waves; glinting green, bluish pink – morn full of diaphanous beauty and inward goodness which few, if any, things can well betoken.

He was but a lifeless form, whose hair hardly bestirred itself in the fitful last gasps of small hours, on the verge of Monday morning. He seemed bereft of life; yet in that chest, and in that visage, with lids clasped over visionary pools of the dear soul, life quietly hove on.

She came up near, and cast a gaze upon him; the same that was fraught with feelings of deeper rue of warmer love.

Kate took him up. He was but a limp being in her hands, propped on her arms, in the embrace – at her disposal, as he was in the morpheic land of far Ayont. She looked at him, steadily; and kissed him. Almost imperceptibly, but surely, the facial features of the youth assumed a buxomer colour.

The view afforded light of air; and accorded light of heart.

Kate daubed him with a look of watery zest; such an ardency that held in its touch both the rubied flame and sapphiric refraction; glintingly, her pupils pressed his brows with shafts of another morning. It was as a latent power newly-wakened; it was a pierce of feeling's highness.

He lay there, in her grip; and now would come softly under, but upheld, again, and kissed, withal, by her streamlined lips of roseate pink.

A hammock was swinging whitely to and fro, suspended from the boughs of two concordant limes; into its crispy bosom, like the choicest sheets, she dedicated his lightness of a body.

The wind north-westerly came ashore, and dissipated, becking to its aftersurf elemenal realm: the lake that oped its fan into such startling facets of beauty and dearness; cliffs hemming in with vaguest outlines the huge sea-like optical of the world at large.

A smooth, giant spate of a lake it was, where formes of cloude frolicked to and fro, and but for the sheer distance between the shore-line low and the back-quiver of the skies, - appeared but so many flecks upon a faint and dainty, chase of each other. Mostly aquamarine, they allowed the breaking forth of the morrow sun to dispel the downcast gloom of colder night, now packing away in dismaller arrears, - and already yielding to the auroraed tinctures of the new-born dawn; - the criss-cross of diurnall glories making way, and headway, - to broach the early cask of youthful bliss with all: flower; wind; breeze; light; and pall; scent; and delectation sweet.

There was none upon the shore now, save the one who moved by ever such little strokes, in the hammock by the watery edge.

The lake may have resonated with something like a vinaceous mirk after a shade or two of nether cloud passing across Limen's airt; yet all was again equanimity betimes; upon the table, the cloth, riffled itself, was a little ruffled, now and then; and would, once more, be set into a former neat pattern, when a round of wind-caress would cease, - and the next yet not begun.

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