Not a salacious post, this. But a passionate one. And true.

It happened last night, in the cool, still darkness.

I had turned in early; lay listening to the silence. Felt the soft tap at the inside of my head.

Words come to me in bed, sometimes, in that soft, cosseting space between sheets. I never know when it will happen. I don’t entirely understand why. They come to me when I least expect them to.

The words whisper, breath at my ear; warm around me and irresistible.

They touch my imagination with a light touch that knows me, knows what to do with me. The words give me their weight. The acceleration from maybe to yes that doesn’t end until it’s ready to end.

Suddenly, in the words, in what they do, my life goes from empty to full. For a moment, I am overcome by them. I am what they are. When the moment is past, I am cradled in the warmth of them.

I was given a chapter last night–its structure, its emotions, the nuances of its pace. By the finish, the thing had ordered itself, beautiful and whole, first image to last. And in all of it, I never typed a word.

In moments like these, the characters are alive. And so am I. There is beauty in a seduction like that one.

Last night, the words had their way with me.

The graces of love.