-- Copyright C 1991-2005, WesternMage, All rights reserved. -- Published with permission of the author.

Soft was his touch, gentle, yet fleeting like the gossemer moths of springtime. Hesitant, curious, cautious at first, then slowly lowering the guards.

So many shields to pass, so many locks to pick, never knowing, yet perhaps hoping, that each barrier iswill be the last.

Her fragrence grew as his fingers tapped, skittered, and slid. Smiles widened as the scents blended and became one. The sweetest of perfumes, so subtle in its shifts as the movements quickened, slowed, and hovered in between the slow, growing quiver and the rapid flutter, racing to outrun the beating of her heart.

She curled, drawing inward like the snowflake on the stove, then melted slowly into a blissful slumber, resting, basking in the warmth of his love. -- Copyright C 1991-2005, WesternMage, All rights reserved. -- Published with permission of the author.