- Published on Wednesday, 08 January 2014 17:08
by Tim Schlee
They lived in the shadows, groping in the dark to map the form of the other. Hers was a subtle
research, half caress. His hands, by contrast, could not be contained, leapt from knee to shoulder
or from buttocks to breast, and in their haphazard delight needed constantly to retrace their
manic movements. The way was not easy. When her legs grew restless from sitting or weary
from standing, she shifted, and they started over. He cursed. When at last his scattered probing
mapped a web too loose to remember and his concentration broke, he beat himself, and they
started over. She sighed. He couldn’t bear a distortion, a flaw of any kind in the image he drew
in his mind. She wanted no part of him to go untouched, unmapped, unknown. It was love they
were after, full and complete, and it was love they would find. But just when he felt he was
approaching the end of his research, she moved and spoiled everything. He cursed. She sat down.
They waited for the sun to rise.