Saturday, October 15, 2005

A Special Kind of Love

She lies silent and still as I enter the room. I walk over quiet as I can be and kneel down on the floor next to the bed. I don’t want to disturb her. I just want to admire her in this soft evening light. With her head on the pillow, and her arm lazily lying on the covers, she is stunningly gorgeous. She was always the most beautiful girl from a family of great beauties. A unique, special treasure, like a rare flower in a spectacular garden. I don’t know how I ever managed to deserve her.

Unable to keep my hands away from her, I reach out my hand and slowly, gently, trace my fingertips down the side of her neck, and follow the curve of her shoulder, and down to the curve of her sexy waist, and grasp the smoothness of her softly rounded bottom.

Great gods, but she is beautiful. I can’t imagine any other man touching her. She is all mine. And I am hers. Through some miracle of inscrutable fate, the universe has brought us together.
I smoothly slip my arm underneath her back and lift her into my arms. As I stroke and caress her, she responds to my touch in ways no other ever has. She moans and her voice rises up sweetly to meet me. In that voice is tenderness, and thoughtfulness, and happy, good times, and great, deep passion and desire. I hold her gently and swing her around and she lets out a breathy sigh.

We share the same passion for music. I play and she sings. We are so melded together, it is sometimes hard to tell where I leave off and where she begins. She gives a voice to my very thoughts, and reaches deep to touch my innermost feelings. If the sight of her is a feast for my eyes, the sound of her voice opens up my soul and leaves me open and exposed for anyone to see inside me. But I don’t mind. I would stand on a public stage and hold my soul open to a crowd of thousands to be in this with her. She is one of a kind. Life is long, and I have known others, but there has never been another quite like her, and never will be. She was meant for me, and I for her.

She is my love, my passion, my inspiration, my master, and my slave. She is my guitar.


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