Beneath the fire of the sun and in the warmth of their skin, two lovers unite in the holler and jeer of a morning’s session of passion. There is, imagined in this scene, a pair that dances on their own toes above the fruit that releases the nectar that is the sin of lust. One speaks of beauty, the other speaks of despair. Yet, the comfort that surrounds the aura to the dream is the enemy to love. One dream and one blaze cover a pair so embedded in simplicity.
Bastian acts as the man with an entire field below him in its radiance from the overhead sunlight, while she gleams with as much luster as the sun, to give Bastian the radiance that all know in holiness. Bastian is God to an angel covered in her own cotton garments.
He is as merciful as the holiest of saints, though tears into her the punishment that fits the description of any atrocious fiend. His face is shown with the emanations of regret. More than once, she questions why he is weeping, but not once does he offer an answer. He gleams in the aroma of love-making; it is softness to the angel’s defeat. A few drops from his face mingle in with the drops of his body, but his face is soaked in sadness. His temples are soaked in passion. His mind is drowned in sorrow.
In God’s realm, he has become the doer of good to an angel that envelops herself in simplicity. Her shoulders show loveliness through their roundness and their connection to a splendid stem of a neck! Her face is captured by the kisses given to her from the man above, and what a face it is! Bastian and his lips trace the skin of her breast, draining its plumpness. He allows himself to linger on her scent.
The scent of a beast lures; that is the Hunter which Bastian has become. It takes God and a Hunter to create a child in the womb of an angel. He takes in her softness in every inescapable delight. Every one of her tremors results in the creation of an empire devoted to wings and gold.
“I am sinister.”
“You are Bastian.”