Nothing has Perished / by grace mcgrade


I  spent two weeks before we met singing love songs and giggling, almost like my soul knew he was coming before I did.  When we met, a warm resonance went through my body, like an etheric chime, reminding me that he was a man i must have met before, in my dreams.  I swear for a moment, it felt like my soul pirouetted out of my body, meeting his mid-air.

He had eyes that stole secrets from the sea, with curling waves of hair and a mind like a library. Sometimes he spoke  in poetry and fairy tales, or legends. Other times he spoke like joke books or esoteric archives. We enjoyed each other’s minds as much as our bodies, which is the only way it could be, as I always fall in love with my ears before my eyes. There is an inherent playfulness, and even when we were exhausted we behaved like children or puppies, rolling around in each others dirt. He was the first man I have met who isn’t threatened by my boldness, who hasn’t wanted to cage me, or own me.  He was just as enthralled by my wild as I am.

There was an urgency to getting to know one another. As if we got high off of telling each other what was shocking to tell, we exchanged abbreviated stories of our respective realities..darting back and forth like the silloques of bumble bees.

The morning light sprayed through a prism in the window of my  room, and cast a veil of color on the ceiling. Emerald, magenta and orange. The moist sheets stuck to our skin as we wrathed and basked in each others warmth. I felt the currents of energy between us opening up portals beneath my skin. He clasped his hand around the small of my waist and he complimented me, compliments interspersed by a steady rhythm of kisses. He  told me I taste of strawberry ice cream. His voice sounded out from the depth of his core, almost as if it hurt to speak, but like he had been yearning to for a hundred years. It reminded me that sometimes there is rage in pleasure, the same way there is immense pleasure in rage.

Every word he mouthed touched the strings in my soul, sending a deep echo to the subterranean chambers of my body.

I nestled deeper into his armpit, and he whispered to me. He said I have doe eyes that speak of innocence, but my mouth, my mouth speaks of sex.