Howl

Her name was Annalee, and she was mine that night.

This is not boasting. It's no talk of pride or conquest. I did not conquer her. I was not proud. I was humbled. I was brought low, to my knees and lower still into the ground. I could never be far enough beneath my Annalee, the night she WAS my Annalee. She floated, and yet she bore a constant pressure, a weight and a substance that bore my down. She was humility in pale flesh, and in the dark, she was moonlight and terror and a sweet taste.

She found me sitting by the lake, leaning outside of the hungry mouth of the woods. Branches loomed like the jaws of caves, and from that jagged hollow, I watched the full moon howl down at me. It pressed into my neck, into my veins. The pressure was maddening, and I could feel my innards crumble – I was hollow. The lake rippled and whispered in the breeze, sucking up that glow and throwing it in all directions. It roiled like a thousand sharks. The lake was hungry deep in its belly.

So was I.

Annalee walked the ring of the lake in thick boots, coarse pants, and a thick sweater. Her clothes were rough and cheap, to match the ragged cut of her hair, to match the cracks and edges in her eyes. She walked like old men trudged. Annalee had eyes like hers because she'd seen things. She had lake eyes. She had hungry eyes. She saw me.

The cabin wasn't mine, wasn't hers. It stank of cobwebs, but the stove still worked and the fire was thick and hot. She kissed me, thick and hot, and I kissed her with a wet hunger. She threw me down and I fell. She slid up next to me, gentle as a lonely cat and I crawled over her. She looked at me with a challenge, but her lips were quivering. My fingers were clenching. My palms were shaking. What a mess we were.

I remember the soft feeling of her belly on my cheek. I brushed my nose against the milky whiteness of her, the prison of that mad moonlight. I kissed her and I tasted salt and sweet and more of her. Every kiss left another in my mouth. My fingers slid away her coarseness and my whispers worshipped the soft girl down before me. She was revealed. I was under her clothes. I was pressed down inside of her.

The lake had eaten me.

Annalee left with the dawn light. She looked sharp and the rawness of her stung my eyes. The morning was quiet, too quiet, and it took the comfort and the warmth from me with a fatal execution. It killed my night eyes slowly. I marched out into the wood again, my shoulders square but my eyes still howling moonlight.

Annalee would be back. Would I be humble?