An Intrinsic Exquisite

she couldn't remember the last time she had made love
the last time she could remember was over a year ago
but there had been occasions since then
and she could remember isolated moments of ecstasy in them, from them, glowing from them

but the last love making that had had a plot, meaning, a beginning, middle and end, was more than a year ago and she remembered that on her skin and in her uterus and her vagina could still warm itself on the aromas of that memory lingering

she wondered if it was the same for him
did she remember their times together as more significant than the times spent in the arms of others?

she had no idea how significance arises in those circumstances
whether from the body
the soul
or from what occurred between the two of them
was it shared?

and the wind was crunching and her guests were becoming dubious of this weekend ever reaching full form

Alistair was unlikely to show up. he never did. he liked to be coddled and he couldn't get enough attention when there was a gaggle of others to consume the ephemeral coaxing he devoured so rapaciously

Samuel had advised her repeatedly to give him up. so had everyone else she knew. Alistair's friends, if one could call them that, despised her, felt her to be an oppression. as if asking for the truth or spontaneity of response was itself an attack on their fragile moral fibers