Feste's Lute

I have many times sipped rich, dark wine that flows from your candied lips. The sweetness… the slight tinge on my tongue, so strong in it’s potency… the warming dizzyness that would fill my head. 

I was not ready for it.

Our faces pressed so close together, and as I began to speak soft words the sip became a slow trickle that could no longer be absorbed so easily. Your breathing quickened with mine, and I heard a tiny whimper… so beautiful. The trickle became a draught, constant and unrelenting. All my strength left me and my only thought was to cry out to my darling angel. Then, three words, and my world began to shake. The draught became a torrent and washed over me filling my room and my house, washing out into the streets. “Oh my darling!” I will never forget it. 

The passion, the depth, the quiet warmth, and the sense that somewhere in you a propane flame burns scorching hot. Endearment after endearment followed, each one tossing me about like driftwood. All I could do was cry out to you, darling. All I could think is that I never wished you to stop. All I could tell was that I was drowning so completely. All I could say was, “I love you.” In each breath I said, “I love you.” In the quiet, “I love you.” In the tears… “I love you.” In the night, in my dreams, “I love you.”

I was not ready for it.

But who would be?