Mine.

She looked more beautiful than ever, a nervous radiance that melted me and made me want to hold her in my arms until the end of time. I fixed her image in my mind, storing this moment for eternity: her proud, broad forehead and her small neat nose, the short blond hair and the glorious smile, the look which had entranced me since that very first day, that wonderful day when I first entered Molly Malone's.

Standing together, locked in love, trembling with the passion of the evening; bodies together, my breast to hers, my lip on hers, my fingers on her downy arms; naked together, senses in overload, a synaesthetic jumble. The music scratched my skin, marking its flawless progress on my body, a goosebump trail to heaven; and the light from the lamp, pale yellow and quiet, gave a flavour of summer, of nights at the beach, with the sea on the wind, and the wind on the moon, and the moon reflective and calm.

I held my love, and in that instant it felt as though I were holding her for the very first time. And I kissed her, and her touch felt quite new. And I smelled her, and her aroma was unique. And in that instant we crossed a boundary, we ceased to be, Marie and me, and merged into Cupid's child. Through it all the music played, our faithful guide to paradise, its footsteps gentle on my skin.

I kissed my love, and in that kiss my breath was hers and hers was mine.

I stroked my love, and in that touch I promised, always, to hold her in my heart.

I loved my love, and in that love was nature's gift to me, to her, to us.

I kissed her neck as the music played. I held her breast and cradled her body to mine, and we echoed the flow, gentle and slow, giving music the lead in our dance.

The music played as I kissed her neck. She held my breast and cradled my body to hers, and the music mimicked our motion, tracked our devotion, followed our lovers' curvet.

Her skin was hot, a sweet and fragile blush, the faintest spindrift of excitement rising from her pores. I licked her breast, felt her nipple rise, felt it harden, reach into my mouth. And I took it, and held it, light between my teeth, and suckled. She sighed, a mellifluous flutter which floated into the air and sang with the music around us.

My hand on her stomach, tense and alive, heaving with ardour and throbbing with heat. Her hand in my hair, caressing my scalp and pulling me hard to her breast. We rolled together, kisses more ardent as passion increased, and the simplest touch of her knee, of her thigh, of her foot, thrilled me more than a lifetime of meaningless sex: this was love, it was raw and intense, and it screamed at my senses and struck at my soul. This is love, this is love.

And it's ours. And it's ours.

My hand on her thigh, fingers splayed, palm flattened, sliding, sliding over her skin, luxuriating in its texture, relishing its contours. And wandering, fingers wandering, searching and divining, sliding and sliding nearer - oh nearer - and feeling the heat, and the damp and the stirring, sensing the need, and the hope and the yearning. My hand on her thigh, and her skin was so soft, and it called to my touch. I could do this forever, today and forever. This is love, this is love, and the music - the music played on.

And it changed as we changed, as our kisses grew harder, as our bodies pressed closer; and we changed as it changed, as its rhythms spun faster, and louder and shorter. And the light in the room, with its shadows of blue, aphrodisiac hue, seemed to bask us in Lesbia's love. And we changed, all together, as one and forever, and I knew that my heart was Marie's.

Marie's.

I knew that my heart was Marie's.

My hand on her mons, fingers probing and stretching. My hand on her mons, this is love, this is love. Almost scared to go further, for fear of breaking the spell, of losing the moment, I fiddled and scraped, I stroked and strafed, played cautiously on the fringes; but finally my lust overwhelmed me. Fingers forward and down, in search of her slit, and I found it, sodden and hot. With her hand round my neck, in a lovers' embrace, she pulled me to her, pulled our mouths into union, the sweet smell of love on her breath. And my fingers explored. And my fingers explored. And they walked into heaven, through paradise gate.

My thumb on her clitoris, soft and gentle, so gentle, circling and sliding and raising its love. And her breath and the music, so finely attuned, soughed faster and louder, a sigh from the heart. With a sob she tensed, her fingers clenched, she curled up in a fragile ball. With a sob she stared into my eyes, like a baby, so trusting, unquestioningly in love. And a tear on her cheek as her muscles contracted, as the moment of triumph arrived; and she stared and she screamed and her body convulsed. And she whispered my name, and again, and again, the prettiest music, the prettiest tune. She whispered my name and I whispered hers and together we sang of our love. She was crying as she came. And so was I.

So this is love.

So this is love.

So this is love.