Room the Rhymer (halfwest) wrote in prancingdragon,
Room the Rhymer
halfwest
prancingdragon

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Faramir's metaphorical pornography

Eternity and the Universe

Release me from Time's burden, the Knowing of what I shall soon become. Dust of the Ages, forgotten once the shadows swallow the last of the summer's leaves. When the final brown ghost tumbles to the underbrush to be crushed by the weight of the wind, I, too, shall feel the air grow heavy, my breath become shallow, and I, like the fragile skeleton of the forest's harpstrings, will fall and be buried under the blue-grey winter.

Do not let me fall. Tie me to your Timeless grace with the flowing white-gold rope of your hair. Twine it over my shoulders and around my waist until I am not afraid anymore.

I do not fear death. I am a Man, and it has always been a real, inescapable eventuality. But I do fear oblivion. It is not the means of death or the act of dying (can dying be called an act?), but the uncertainty of not knowing what comes after, and more so, the certainty of knowing that my End and yours will not coincide. You are an Immortal. I would guess you soulless but for the strange bond that holds us together. So maybe you are pure soul, and this beautiful body glistening and tense beneath my fingertips is only what I want to see.

Did I dream you -- this curve of muscle, this arch of proud eyebrows, the slender canyon between your lips and the taste and the promise of dark caresses behind it? Are Men born with such dreams in them?



I see you lean back, resting your weight on one arm, the palm of your hand pressing down on the pillows. The cloth ripples out from your touch in rays like light from a cloud. Your lower arm bells out from the elbow and the shape of the muscles reminds me of your hips. I find invisible currents in your motion, your posture. I see, or do I feel?, a curve that leads from the blank space above your collarbone to somewhere beside your outer thigh. I trace my hand along it, teasing the empty air. You shift slightly, and I wonder if you can feel the heat of my skin or a movement of energy -- or are you merely amused, wondering what I am playing at?

I hover my hand just beyond your navel, a little bit below and to one side. You want me. The air between us tingles with a delightful yearning expectancy. There is a pressure. It feels like height, how the air gets thinner and the blood whirls madly. And then it feels like falling, like the tightness between your ears when you dive too deep. The tightness between souls pulls now. We have both of us gone too deep.

It is a fine and exquisite torture, to prolong the giving in to that pressure. When at last I fall towards you, it is not as a leaf but as an osprey, diving in a magnificent, mad dance into the embrace of the sea.

I catch my prey with the ease of an arrogant predator, knowing that the wind and the waves are mine to command at will. The bounty of the sea is generous. I sup on the writhing flesh of my quarry, and drink of its warm, salty lifeblood. I feel as if I have taken on your soul. I wear it now, proud. I toss my head back as you do, that little jerk that raises your chin just an inch or two coupled with a smile that says, I own you.



After the crashing of waves and the taking of brine-flavored tea, after drinking your eyes and Knowing with pride that the abandon and bliss there is a moment I can claim to be a work of our joining, after the final thrashing of the prey in the beak of the osprey, after its triumphant cry, there is a calm that completes me even more than does our shared passion -- at its most intense, how can I hope to step back and observe it, savor it?

I am a Man of mind as well as body, a scholar at heart. So it is now, here, with you, this moment of thinking and of Knowing and of dreaming that fills the emptiness at last to the brim, releases the pressure and ceases the storm between us.

It is not finished. It will never be finished. We will go to a place that has no endings, you and I. There will be no fallen leaves there, no end to summer for the leaves. We will begin as different, like the leaves of Lorien, and choose our seasons as we will. Then we will go to the pines, who have no end at all, no seasons. We will change what is Known, we will live and love into a spectacular euphoric Forever.

We are Legends. And someday, we will be dreams such that the world will be too small to hold us.

Eternity and the Universe. All this... in the firm limbs that curl so willingly against me. I could sleep forever in this bliss.

With my lips against yours, I close my eyes and dream.
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