"There was a soft click of the doorknob. Barefoot, she came
in. Another soft click to shut the door. He turned the wheelchair to face her.
She crossed the floor, stopped, her thighs touching the armrest. Black trousers
flecked with yellow dust, toenails painted lavender rose. Black shirt sweat
stained on the front, unbuttoned along the V opening that framed her skin like white
satin. Gently she cradled his head in her bosom. He shut his eyes, inhaling the
warm heat from her skin. The smells of grass and pollen, of fern and pine
cones, of hay and dust, of a sunny meadow brought home. When he kissed the skin
of her chest, she said, Have you just smoked, and he nodded, knowing nothing
escaped her unseen. He nuzzled her, pushing back the front of her shirt like a
child at feeding time. Moments later he saw the front buttons undone and the
meadow warmth from under the fabric rushed into his nostrils. Milky white was
her skin that glowed with a devilish fervor; with his face uptilted he let
himself be caressed on the head, drown in her intoxicating scent."
