Michael Malone - Weebly

hands on the wheel of her car, in her lips on the rim of
her glass, in her eyes on star moss and cowslip almost
hidden as they climbed, through Birch Forest, in her
teeth biting wild blackberries as they climbed. He had
touched her, and her body, for so long husbanded,
quickened. He saw, heard, touched, sensed, knew who
she was, and that was as magical to them both as pink
lady's slipper shining out of pine needles in the shadows.
As sudden as the sun spilling into the evening lake.
He took Beatrice's hands like a prayer. She had
touched him, and after all those diffuse and scattered
years, Richard felt that perhaps he could be centered
now, concentrated in her absoluteness.
For she was, he believed tonight, the most holy
(because the wholest) person he had ever known. He
kissed her now, and red chestnut blooms like candles
flickered down a hall of branches as they passed
beneath the trees this night in Central Park. She kissed
him now, and his breath was perfect to breathe, his
beard was strange and perfect on her lips, his hair was
yellow-red and perfect-feeling in her fingers. Leaned
back against the musty leather, they kissed and that way