It had to be the wickedness in her quirky smile, or the lazy invitation in her gaze. The voice, like dark red wine, was not expected from a woman so petite. Clearly, I was prey. I felt exposed; she had me backed against a stone wall. She had me stripped and delirious with passion, and I didn’t even know who she was. Her toes caressed the wood floor and made it a lover. I wanted to spread my arms, become an angel, lift her up into my heaven. But, it was she who had wings. She flew through me like my body was melted butter. Every nerve, muscle, sinew that was touched hummed in harmony. If she had ordered me to die, I would have done so, instantly and without question. When I reached out to touch her, it was with fear, but familiar. Her small earthly body drew my fingers like divining rods looking for blood and life and love. My mind was rolling like beads of mercury, scattering in all directions, longing to flow together in her. When I did touch her, she disappeared. She became me, filling every blank space inside the skin of my helplessly captured body, cradling my soul in the terribly gentle palm of her hand.