Through the Looking glass Alice stands in all her splendor. Her hair a curtain of silver rain, her soft skin aglow in subliminal light.
A compelling fever rises as Thomas tries different ways to pull her up in memory while writing himself into the tale. Poor Thomas delirious in his dilemma, he knows this will be no easy seduction. How fiercely urgent his desire rises as he longs to end our heroine's self-imposed abstinence.
Hot April morning ambush, and our intruder has beguiled our sweet Alice with heated kisses sweeter than ripened fruit. A wildness stirs in the bloodstream. Now he slowly and lovingly explores her pristine body as she shivers beneath his delicate strokes until high trills rise to fevered pitch.
Pleated line of sky muted corners softly come into focus.
Loathe to let her go, passion stirs in his depths slowly now he tastes her secrets, shares her pleasure.
Tight buds of anticipation tenderly plucked, his fingers find the stem, a measure of moisture; Nimble fingered harmonies play pleasure symphonies accompanied by soft echoes of youthful delight Warm and breathless, crystal rainbows paint the inside of her eyelids as she grows sleepy in afterglow.
Soon he's torn away, his pale poet's face conveying pain received from this now cool disconcerting beauty; Though he touched folds and frills of every petal, his chapter is immediately erased and the original story reappears.
She may have slipped down the rabbit hole, but forever ladylike and pure is our sweet Alice.