Softly Falling
by Avery Ray Colter

Before me, standing beautifully,
Her back to me with its combination
of curls, swells, whorls and sweeping expanses.
Upon her, intricate strips of smooth fabric,
Gently stretched and restraining.
Before her, the bed in which we share
Our warmest, deepest secrets.

My eyes, lowered to her ankles, slowly rise,
Like a hoop made of wood
Inside of which she stands;
From the ground this hoop rises up,
Past two fields of drawn fishnet meridians,
Pausing at the backs of her knees,
To whet my apetite with the tender fleshly curls
Where lower and upper legs meet;
Then to continue upwards,
Thighs ever widening,
Delicate crosslines in the skin,
To where her body does begin
To roundly reach back toward me,
And ever farther out.
The hoop strikes into flesh, the flesh flowing
First gently past, then with more effort.
In my mind I see and hear
The wood of the hoop beginning to stretch,
Its upward rise increasingly resisted.
As it vainly tries to open enough for her hips,
The hoop's song grows louder,
Then sharply cuts short as its journey ends,
Locked immovably at the widest of her widths.

Up her arms slowly rise, reaching toward the ceiling.
Then, all tension released, her hands reach forward,
Her body softly falling toward the waiting mattress,
Her belly striking the smooth sheet
And spreading to the sides.
The widest of her widths widens still more,
And the hoop my eyes made stretches in kind,
Singing its tones yet again until,
"Snap!"
The sharp sound rings through my mind.
The hoop is shattered, flying away in all directions;
And so is my patience.


My own arms rise, my hands alighting
On the smooth uprising slopes.
Up and out,
Then down and back over her rounded flanks,
Then back inward, to again glide up, and out,
But this time continuing,
Up and up, and over her high crest.
Now I am softly falling,
My hard frame crashing gently upon her.
My hands also start their long fall
From high hip crest, forward and down,
Jumping to her squashed-out belly.
Rolling her body from side to side,
She gives my hands the space
To continue farther under.
My arms sink into her sides
Like a tight-waisted garment;
My hands are greedy harvesters,
Scooping up ever more
Of this invigorating bounty.

Trapped and ever more pressed
Between my eager body
And my gathering arms,
The widest of her widths
Widens just once more.
At the center of her torso,
My hands join.

And so do we.