Just the Thought of It

They say that in the end it’s all a stream of soft quiet light so perhaps work backwards from that. Like a destination where you arrive empty handed and alone. Forget it though, even just the thought of it gives me the shivers. Death is coming but no one can say when. Meanwhile, here we are.

We sip whiskey as we walk through the crowds at a fall festival way out among the rolling countryside hills. The wind is whirling dead leaves all around us in the air, which is also inexplicably full of gigantic bubbles blown by some machine far off behind the guy selling bacon on a stick. The line for that particular delicacy is endless. What is it with people losing their entire goddamn minds over bacon. The smell of bonfire smoke and funnel cakes makes me nostalgic for years gone by when all that mattered in October was a count down of how many sleeps until Halloween.

He steals a kiss as we stroll past the tiny scarecrows assembled as part of some kind of scarecrow-making competition. He likes the way my mouth tastes like raisin lipstick and peaches. It has been quite some time since we have been together and when he takes my hand in his, my heart melts which turns into the low simmering heat of lust all over my body.

We buy a handful of cigars from the local shop. The guy behind the counter is trying to be helpful but he never stops talking about himself and his odd little cigar salesman life. He asks if I would like a blueberry flavored cigar and I tell him no, to which he responds by informing me that ninety-nine percent of the blueberry cigars will go to women. I stare at him blankly because this is not useful or interesting information. I don’t like blueberry anything.

Stepping out into the sunlight with our little bag of tricks, we decide the festival is adorable and far too crowded. On the drive home we put the windows down and turn the music up as the green and orange pastures and farms fly by alongside of us in a magical blur. Autumn is ringing its gorgeous amber light through the multicolored trees and I feel more content than I have in a long time.

The wide open blue sky is painted wild with ferocious charcoal clouds, monstrous and menacing. When we arrive home, we undress and put our bodies to good use pleasuring each other. His touch is disarmingly sincere in its desire, breathtaking in its expertise. Underneath the dark grip of a late evening storm, we are alone but tangled up together. The sky turns to purple and then fades smoothly into black as he sends me into orbit with just the tips of his fingers in all the right spots. For a few sacred hours, we are the only ones anywhere for miles and miles and miles. The only ones on earth.