posted on Apr, 29 2016 @ 06:55 AM
Scrambled parts of stardust not proofread
Go, and catch a falling star,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy’s stinging,
Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be’est born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
Lives a woman true, and fair.
If thou find’st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet,
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Here I come, to two, or three.
—John Donne, 1572-1631
He could see her now, as the sky lightened into a dawn grey. Around them animals were stirring: horses stamped, birds began, waking, to sing the dawn
in, and here and there across the market meadow, those in the tents were beginning to rise and move. He shook his head, as if to clear it of a dream,
and turned back to her. She held a bluebell flower up to the light; and he could not but observe that the color of sunlight glittering through the
purple crystal was inferior in both hue and shade to that of her eyes.
“They are used in certain spells and cantrips. If sir is a magician...
?” she said.
He shook his head. " Even so, they are delightful things. I first found them when I played by the waterfalls in my father’s lands,
high in the mountains. They bloom when the moon loses her daughter, if that occurs in a week when two Mondays come together. Will you buy a flower for
me ?” she asked with a teasing grin.
He noticed how the silken fabric of her robe pressed itself against her body; he was aware of her curves, and of her violet eyes upon him, and he
swallowed. Truth to tell, she was making him exceedingly uncomfortable. "Do you think you are under a spell, pretty magician ?”
“I do not
She laughed, and the sound was a clear rill bubbling over rocks and stones.
“You are under no spell, pretty boy, pretty boy.” She lay
back in the grass and stared up at the
sky he lay beside her in the cool grass, and stared up at the night sky. There was certainly something odd about the stars: perhaps there was more
color in them, for they glittered like tiny gems; perhaps there was something about the number of tiny stars, the constellations; something was
strange and wonderful about the stars. They lay back to back, staring up at the sky.
“What do you want from life?” asked the faerie lass.
don’t know,” he admitted. “You, I think.” And she was quiet. He leaned over toward her, reached a hand up to her face, felt
something wet and hot splash against his hand.
“Why, you are crying.”
She said nothing. He pulled her toward him, wiping ineffectually at her
face with his big
hand; and then he leaned into her sobbing face and, tentatively, uncertain of whether or not he
was doing the correct thing given the circumstances, he kissed her, full upon her burning lips. There was a moment of hesitation, and he was, under
the strange stars, utterly, irrevocably, lost. His hand felt the silk of her dress. She clung to him, hard, as if she were drowning, fumbling with his
shirt, with his britches. She was so small; he was scared he would hurt her and break her. He did not. She wriggled and
writhed beneath him, gasping and kicking, and guiding him with her hand.
She placed a hundred burning kisses on his face and chest, and then she was
straddling him, and smiling slippery as a minnow if he known her name he would have called it out aloud.
At the end, he would have pulled away, but she held him inside her so hard that he felt that the two of them occupied the same place in the universe.
As if, for one powerful moment, they were the same person, giving and receiving, as the stars faded into the night sky.
They lay together, side by side. He squeezed her small hand in his.
The sweat dried on his skin, and he felt chilled and lonely.
“Now, get along with you,” she said softly, and looked at him, half regretfully, with eyes as violet as the cirrus clouds, high in the dawn sky.
And she kissed him, gently, on the mouth, with lips that tasted of crushed blackberries. He didn't look back he stood up and walked away.