Shameless

    They ran halfway across the bridge, hands clasped, hair flying wildly around them in the night wind, cheeks flushed from cold, excitement, and wine. Breathless, they laughed at each others' disheveled appearances, then at themselves. They kissed and held each other as close as they could get; the stars looked down at them and were jealous.

     She pried herself from their embrace to lean over the railing, breath coming out in puffs of smoke. There was no river to be seen in the darkness, but when the flower in her hair slipped from behind her ear the current carried it away. She spared it a moment's regret, but there was a warm hand on her waist, scorching its anticipation through the fabric of her coat, and she was hard pressed to ignore its impatience.

     A flash of blinding light in her face and she stumbles, gloveless hands reaching out to anchor her to the banister. The hand on her waist keeps her steady, and as her visions slowly clears she sees the camera he holds. Her gaze focuses on the grin behind it. She leans back, eyes to the sky, and dares anything watching to love half as much as she does. Another flash and she pulls him close again. They kiss, they laugh, they are breathless. The world turns, the stars envy, the river runs. They are in a universe of their own, where the beauty of their love continuously amazes them, and they are blind to the world outside their hands and lips and mouths. Her defiant eyes are his universe, and his beautiful smile her sky.

     They tumble into their hotel room, limbs a tangle of uncoordinated flailing, tangling hands and ankles and fingers as they forget how to do anything other than grasp and clutch and love. They breathe deeply and love deeper, shameless with laughter and exhausted with pride and perfection. The wine makes their brains sluggish, but the night sets their blood to boil.

     They fall into bed fully clothed, she in gown and he in suit, she in heels and he in dress shoes. Her purse hits the floor and his camera is placed gently on the bedside table by the lamp whose bulb yearns to light the scene and do its part to share in the love story being written here. She whispers poetry into his mouth and stokes his hair and holds his heart.

     The sun rises in the open window, giving the envious stars reprieve.