“It’ll never work,” I said to my friend.
“Don’t be insecure, be a man,” he said.
Not a whisper or stir but the sound of her breath in quiet moments with soul so still I feel the weight of her breasts and significance in my life overwhelm me with flesh and an opiated head nudging me to wonder if all past mistakes were pratfalls into channels of grace guiding me to her roping light in the room where moon drowns the dark never had a hue of sublimity until I felt the fire of her breath warming me--the wings of the soul God blew into Adam bringing he and I to life with a kiss her heart on mine forms a circuit--what comes out, comes back, electrified and perfect, and see how sleep comes easily to an emptied mind with bright brown eyes draped by pear-skinned eyelids, asleep, her breathing--loud and deep--like Darth Vader and I wonder if this moment has layers like the rings in the sequoia of time sprouting a thousand incarnations of sons and sighs and embraces parted by dust and us--the gravel flowers uprooted like this bygone twilight opiating insight: this was meant to be. And with a notion to be one with her, as odd a notion as it may seem, I synchronize my breath with that of hers--In...out...together now, one being: Adam and Eve.
“But not so fast!” cackles Destiny!
Or perhaps my stupid self-fulfilling prophecy.