Prism

The enmeshment of the lighter aspect of tourmaline swirling about a reflection of the variegated blues from overhead tinted the warmth, enveloping both of us. The deep tawny contours encircling the pouting of your breasts---the pink nearly alabaster softness floating delicately and in contrast to the deeper hues of brown visited upon your shoulders and arms. The thin strands of the vivid yellow turquoise bracelets flashed in concert with the harsh brightness of the sun as you brought your arms around my neck, my shoulders.

The tines of the silver having speared the dried cranberry and grilled Portobello, both of which drawn to your mouth---you had wanted just a salad. A mix of selected greens, purplish curls and the medium gold of sautéed garlic sprinkled over the dual tones of the just perfectly seasoned mushroom. A drizzle of the pale oil blended with the rustiness of the offered vinegar. I was sure to have their merlot. You had asked to have a sip. That particular shade of lipstick, pumpkin bronze I believe, carefully outlined and provided the matching accent to the deep auburn which played over your eyes.

Just the barest tremulous glow of orange from the torches illuminating the courtyard five stories below our window. The breeze periodically arranging the white linen curtain into the bedroom. Just shades of black and gray in our immediacy…our movements against and for each other sharing no real color for the present.