I just woke up. Echoes of last night still vibrate on my skin. I can still feel traces of it -- the lurching and groaning of flesh on flesh on flesh. The four-walled darkness illuminated only by the thin slice of moonlight streaming weakly through the curtains, like a lost child.
I was in one corner, lying prone and unspeaking, watching you. Twenty two bodies were moving like sensuous waves between us. Twenty two pairs of hands clinging at each other in the shadows, looking for a little patch of love if only for a few minutes, if only for a few hours. All was beautiful in that little pocket of darkness. Every touch was heaven, every kiss was hot as fuck.
But it was you whom I loved. You were right beside the curtains, standing. Three shadows encircled you, like panthers guarding their prey. You, however, were a willing sacrifice. You spread your arms and welcomed them into your territory. I flinched at the sudden shift in the air, but still I watched.
If I thought watching you was painful because you were too beautiful, or because I was too jealous, I never really cared. I thrived in that burning sensation in my chest. And even though for the rest of the night I surrendered to the ebb and flow of the waves around me, still it was you I watched.
In a few minutes I will be taking a bath. I will wash off every trace of salt and moonlight left written on my body. Memories of another will be gone from my skin, and my feet will touch solid ground once again. But you, still, I will remember. You will be my vanishing point.
