She sleeps on my scarlet sofa like a sleek black panther in the midday sun. Sharp teeth primed behind pouting lips. She purrs softly to herself in undertones so rich and deep that my lungs vibrate in sympathy. The more I stare at her, the more the rest of the room becomes hazy. Eventually my peripheral vision is a mass of lemon yellow, and she is all that I see. I watch her breasts rise and fall in the languid rhythms of the delta wave cycle. I adjust my own respiration to match hers. After a few minutes our breathing is harmonised in perfect unison, and I feel our souls entwine. I now tightly clench my buttocks for the prerequisite timespan, and feel sure that when she wakes, the enchantment will surface.

© Chris Bond — 15 May 2001