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Igniting the Forest.


by Shan Shaikh


            It wasn't raining, and I wasn't in Paris. The moon wasn't out, and I couldn't see the city lights. It was a sunny Saturday, not too hot but hot enough, and I wondered if my bike would fall over the cat. Preoccupied with dumping my face into her sink, mixing sweat and whatever the hell that sink was spewing out, I didn't notice her standing by the bathroom door watching me; calling me with those beautiful cinnamon colored eyes. I love cinnamon. I towel dried my body and face, and made my way to the sacred place with walls covered with magazine cut outs and a pin board. I didn't even know they still made those.

            Cinema is a great way to unwind and delve into a world that will pull you out of your own. Maybe that's why it's always a good idea to take a gal out to the movies. Attempting to watch a film in the midst of hunger and frustration was far too difficult. Her bed was very sharp, and her blankets added the color. My body was shivering in the heat, and my breath was choppy. But I kept my mouth closed, and my cheeks curled to form a smile. Her looks were signals, and they were green since I showed up. The world of cinema could not reach me, as my hands made their patient journey through the silky smooth ocean of her skin. I could feel every curve, every kick, and every punch.

            Our lips sealed tight, but her arms sealed tighter around my waist. Our breath increasing with every new idea. The ambience of prehistoric cultures and ancestral teachings played a huge part in our show; especially the part where I was no longer in control. Primal instinct held the leash as the folds of her shirt were my red curtain. I was the magician and I was getting ready to unveil my newest trick to the world. I pulled the curtain up to reveal a masterpiece; God's work at its best. She did the same, and now she ran the show. Her bed wasn't so sharp anymore.

            As clothes sat at the foot of the bed, and the motions that caused sweet frictions continued, I had another brilliant idea. I clawed faster, and she bit harder. I pressed tighter, and she caressed slower. When I pulled the brakes, her eyes widened. I don't know why I asked. I don't think I'll ever know. But I did. And she said yes. I ran into the bathroom once more, and stared down the cat as I went through a minute of embarrassment. The wrapper said something about Hollywood. I could care less. My job was to get back into that room before I lost the flame that was scorching my insides.

            Now I was safe, and ready to ignite the world inside of her. With her hand on the trigger, she held tightly taking her aim. Once accurate, she didn't hesitate. With a single movement, the real show began. The heat within was far more engaging than the heat outside. The flames rose higher and speed was now a vital factor at staying alive. Her arms were glued to my shoulders as she made passionate movements against my body. We were one. Her eyebrows were shaped like angry crescent moons, and her mouth was slightly open allowing her the chance to exhale the ash of her burning forest.

            We swapped roles and now I was behind the trigger. I held onto the handrail her pillows provided and used every muscle in my body to break her. I wanted to reduce her to nothing, and build her up from scratch. The sweltering heat that we were creating brought sweaty tears and sunshine to our palace. Our hearts were dancing and singing around the bonfire. We moved together. We moved in the same pattern. Both of us helping the other make this flame burn brighter than the sun painting silhouettes of the city sky scrapers over her neighbor's peeling apartment.

            After every breath, there was a confident thrust of knowledge and pleasure. The movie was halfway through when things were no longer safe. I couldn't see the damn yellow thing that came from that stupid Hollywood wrapper, and she stared at me as if the show was over. But I wasn't done, and neither was she. Improvisation took its toll, and the movie played like it was the millionth time we'd seen it. I returned to using my brushes, and she returned to being a sculptor. I began to paint a canvas within her. I mixed the cultures we spawned from; Sunshine and concrete jungle yellow, with humid, gator green. She battered, and pulled, and gently stroked the marble structure. Her vision was premeditated, and she perfected her talents through collaborative magazine tutorials.

            We continued until she had exhausted all the fuel she had carried with her. The echoes of my name rang from eardrum to eardrum. I loved it when she called my name. It was a plea to never stop. And I assured her that her forest would be burned. Burned to the ground.

            We were still on the frying pan that was her bed, but we let the music of robots be our ease into relaxation. I hadn't finished my show, but she was long gone already. The curves of her body were glowing. Her sun was setting behind her breasts and my hands welcomed the moon hiding behind her soft legs. It was like running my hands over clouds of heaven. We were staring at each other, smiling. Her hands behind her head, and my hands bringing her into a blissful trance. “I love you.” She said, without a smile. Funny thing was I'm pretty sure that's all we were saying the past hour and a half.

            She knew I needed to end the magic show. The way I saw my favorite winter dessert in her eyes brought a teeth revealing smile to my sweaty face. She turned over and placed the doors to her paradise over the marble structure she carved out. With my brushes, and her smooth arches, we finished the show.

            The shower afterwards was odd, and so was cleaning up. I had ruined a poster of hers with my mess, but she only laughed and teased me about it. It was not a moonlit, Paris, night but it was love. And, to me, that's worth writing about.

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