Vines

Like a vine she wraps herself around him. An arm around around his neck. A leg pinning his down against the bed. He lies like a rustic house ready to be overcome by a beautiful growth. She runs her fingers along his chest and he thinks of how a vine climbs the walls. Slow and furtive. He thinks of how the plant claims its home, tightening against the frame. And as she moves against him, her hands gripped around his wrists, he lies still. He feels her pulse, her breath, her body soft against his. Her breasts, the flowers of the vine, brush against his face. She wants ever part of him to be touched by her. He lets her. She envelops him.