"I move across him, sitting at the harp, and as he gently rights it, I slide my hands over his shoulders, under his jacket, and across his chest. I bury my nose in the fabric of his skin below his jaw. I inhale him like fine powder. I enfold him like a snake. He turns his head, surrendering the alabaster mask of his face to my fingers, which press everywhere because I am making memories. Where is my awe of him? In this moment I love him. I dissolve in a storm of fire and roses, lost indeed to clarity and vision, for there are eagles screaming from all my hidden ledges, and tigers are prowling the surfaces of my skin. The fabric of time has acquired a nap like velvet for us to loll upon: languid, orgulous lovers with age-old pretensions to an ultimate power."
Obbligato -- Bernadette Vaughn (Ladies Home Erotica)