Global Warming

The sun is not as terribly hot as it should be on a late May afternoon in central Georgia. If I didn't know better, I might side with some Republicans denying global warming and man's effects on it, but I do know better, and that makes all the difference. And making all the difference is why she stands in front of me now, leaning against the car, her eyes reflecting the high sun, even through the glasses, and her lips, often pursed closed into a slightly off-kilter line, open ever so slightly, either an invitation or a warning, depending upon which of us moves first.

"I love you so much."

She says it with the greatest of conviction. I let her finish before covering her mouth with mine. Her body, pressed between mine and the car, has nowhere to go, but she pushes it against me even harder as he tongue enters my mouth, touching my cheeks, teeth, tongue, dancing feverishly within my head. Her fingers grasp my hand, and my fingers interlock with hers; there is no escaping, but there was never going to be. This is simple. This is right. This is the way the world was supposed to work.

I open my eyes to look at her face, so close, and I catch her eyes open. We smile as we kiss, our light laughter breaking the motion, and causing just brief breaks in body contact. Her nipples are hard. I know, because I feel them as they press back against my chest. Our wanting has never been in question. Our needing has never been in question. Our love is no longer in question, nor has it been in a long, long time.

The kiss continues. These kisses have gone on for hours before, lips on lips, or neck, or ears, or fingers, or other flesh; fingers in hair, on shoulders, across backs, moving, sliding, touching, caressing, exciting, wanting, needing, fed by and feeding each other as body temperature rises, skin flushes, breathing shallows, becoming panting, quick gasping for air between the electricity of contact- and there is always so much contact.

We break that kiss. She leans backward against the car, her eyes bright, her life renewed. I smile at her, and she looks away, unable to bear whatever it is she sees in them.

"You have to stop that."

"What?"

"Looking at me like that."

Our fingers tighten. We love each other, and it is a closeness, a single life that we share.

"I don't want to go."

"I don't want you to go."

"I can't stay."

"I know."

"God, I love you so."

"I love you- have loved you, will always love you."

We kiss again, another minute, five, sixty- does it matter? Does time continue? And we break and I open the door for her. She looks into my eyes as I look at her, knowing every eyelash on each lid, ever crinkle in her lips, every indentation on her hands.

"I'll see you soon."

"I see you all the time," I reply. She smiles. "Drive safe," I say, "both hands on the wheel, or, at least, one hand on the wheel."

"And you take care of yourself. Do what your doctors tell you to do."

We stare at each other, the heat between us more intense than that of the summer sun, but we don't feel it at all. We feel the coolness of contact, of commitment, of tender love. That heat of passion that warms us always never ceases, but it is always tempered by that single touch of a finger, a hand, the stroke of a cheek or an ear. She starts the car and pulls way. I wave to her, then walk to my car.