I am in the circle of your arms, can feel your heart against my back. My feet rub against each other. Good night, left toes. Good night, right.
 
I drift.
 
An inexplicable fever plagued me through the day, as it has for several months. Even in dreams it follows: a high-speed chase through the woods, kaleidoscopes of color, snippets of conversation on fast-forward, faces I recognize from the grocery store fritter in and out.
 
Little makes sense.

I am high in a tree, bent over a branch, laid bare to anyone who passes beneath.
 
I wriggle deeper into the branches to hide, but it only lifts my skirt higher, displaying more. I close my eyes against the roaring audience below, willing them to disappear. I am dizzy with fear — afraid of heights, afraid of this exposure, afraid of the jeers.
 
More! Now! Faster! Keep up!
 
I have no more. I can’t go faster. I can’t keep up.

I climb up the branches which lead to solid ground. In a clearing now, I am alone.
 

* * *

 
My thighs are slick…with what? Sweat?
 
No, just wet. From me, from my thoughts. Writhing images invade, like flags in the wind, the swish of skin against skin makes my temples pound and my clit throb. A tongue laps between my legs and there is a rushing sound — a madness — followed by waves moving over me as I attempt to swim atop and ride them.
 

* * *

 
We are in a theatre now, full of faceless people. I bend; you reach for me. I feel your cool hand against my damp and burning flesh. You comment, You’re like a river. I could swim in you.

Your hand feels strange, unknown, forked leather against my cheeks as you snap a rhythm against me, like a heart beating. Lub dub, lub dub.
 
Everyone fades.
 

* * *

 
I am in a room, my room, on my stomach with nothing beneath me — floating, finally cool. I’m weightless, slowly swooning. Near the ceiling, your fingers clasp my thighs. You tighten your belt around my waist and reel me in and over your knee.
 
Bright light and then dark. I hiccup a release and go limp in your arms, home again.