He had always been so shy. He was there now, staring at the woman he had always loved, his throat dry, his saliva tasteless. He began to sweat, his hands were chilled. She was watching him as if she was studying every little movement of his muscles, as if they could tell a story in the form of pulsing moments under his skin. Every fragment of the prelude to their sex was emerging from this moment they took to stare at each other.
There was silence between them. They could only hear the quiver of the window – panes. And only the light of a candle could save them from the darkness of the room.
They had wine, drops running from the corner of their mouths, a fluid of pleasure. They ran as sensually as the candle wax on the table, melting at the foot of the candlestick. And he undressed that candle with his eyes, he imagined it as his lover with her soft skin, the glimmering flame now brightening her face and hair.
As the flame of the candle was finally extinguished, their bodies were ready to fulfill the emptiness of their pleasure.
My words 