Growth of consciousness does not depend on the might of the intellect but on the conviction of the heart.
The storm is passing over us. Do you want to go to the bayou this night?_ he asked softly, separating her hair deftly and beginning to weave it into a thick braid. She loved the feel of his hands in her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp, tugging so gently on the thick length of braid. She reached up to place a palm over her bare shoulder, the exact spot where his lips had touched her. __ would love to go to the bayou with you._ He smiled at her, his silver eyes molten mercury. __e can observe wildlife for a change. No vampires._ __o weird society types,_ she added. __o mortals in need of rescuing,_ Gregori said with intense satisfaction. __et dressed._ __ou__e always taking my clothes off, then telling me to get dressed again,_ Savannah complained with her infuriating smile, that little sexy one that drove him mad. He turned her around to face him, caught the front of her shirt, and drew the gaping edges together to cover her tempting body. __ou cannot expect me to dress you myself, do you?_ he asked, leaning down to brush her lips with his. She actually felt her heart jump in response. Or maybe it was his heart. It was nearly impossible to tell the difference anymore.
Dark Magic
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The storm is passing over us. Do you want to go to the bayou this night?_ he asked softly, separating her hair deftly and beginning to weave it into a thick braid. She loved the feel of his hands in her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp, tugging so gently on the thick length of braid. She reached up to place a palm over her bare shoulder, the exact spot where his lips had touched her. __ would love to go to the bayou with you._ He smiled at her, his silver eyes molten mercury. __e can observe wildlife for a change. No vampires._ __o weird society types,_ she added. __o mortals in need of rescuing,_ Gregori said with intense satisfaction. __et dressed._ __ou__e always taking my clothes off, then telling me to get dressed again,_ Savannah complained with her infuriating smile, that little sexy one that drove him mad. He turned her around to face him, caught the front of her shirt, and drew the gaping edges together to cover her tempting body. __ou cannot expect me to dress you myself, do you?_ he asked, leaning down to brush her lips with his. She actually felt her heart jump in response. Or maybe it was his heart. It was nearly impossible to tell the difference anymore.
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There's Nothing To Hide When Your Soul Is Not Guilty....
Do you feel that, Brynlee? I should be in top physical shape from the cardio my heart gets. This is what has happened every time I__e been around you for over two years, and baby, now that I__e kissed these lips _
You know what I love? The spaces between I love you. The tap of your fork against the plate and how my cup of wine clicks against our table. The scratchy voice coming from the radio in the other room. The quiet sound of your hand reaching across the table and whispering over mine. How your voice sounds like your mouth on the back of my neck. The soft murmur of our easy conversation.Between these quiet Tuesday night routines, following every comma and right after every pause for breath, is I, love, and you. In the middle of every I love you is a sink full of dishes, whisper of socked feet tangled in white sheets, and gentle kisses against curved cheeks. We lyric ourselves into the laundry that needs to be finished, into the ends of every smile that follows me repeating your name. We write ourselves into the grocery bags we need to carry, the cracks running up our rented walls, the sides of the bed we choose to drag up the sails of heavy eyed dreams.Like the spaces between our fingers, in the spaces between I, love, and you, we wait.The in-betweens have always been my favorite.
And me, standing under the splintered night, catching fractured glimpses into the black behind the black, hearing the prayers of stars, the angry whispers of the dark summer night.Its voice cracks,on your name.My eyes close,on your name.
If you stand right at the edge of the night sky, some place where one o__lock leaves to meet two, the breeze will carry your words up to the stars. And they__l swallow your secrets until its time to hand them over to the truths in the sky- the ones that draw maps in the black. They carve their answers into the backs of my hands, the grooves of the words running deep in my palms.