Interplanetary: Saturn {7/9}

The first ring is the one you hear.

Heel-strike, then full contact. Repeat. The sound moves in a circle around you, trailing behind me. It falls from the hem that fingers my thighs, snakes down the curve of calves, and hits the ground as it slides off the stilettos you will ask me to leave on. A deliberate path of footsteps, looping tighter and closer, cinching the knot that holds you in its centre.

It's a halo of breath you feel next, my exhale a velvet cord that winds from neck to torso, binding you in vapour. It's a harness that leaves you free and yet here you are — left spinning and rapt, a captive of my gravitational spell.

Hush. My fingers, banded in silver, quiet your lips, trace the valley of your collar, leave tracks across your wings. Round and round. They fall into the crevices of your hips, climb over your thighs, and skip across your rolling lumbar fields. Round and round and round. Eyes wide, mouth open. The sound billows like a string of pearls.

We touch, fuse, and then break apart. We grasp, merge, and then divide. Over and over, faster and harder, we bend the poles between us. Lust and galactic chemistry are indistinguishable. They feed our immortality in this circle dance we weave through the golden storm of rock and ice.

Our insatiable Saturnalia.

Soundtrack: July Talk, “Touch”