Flesh has an independent will.
I found this to be true as I moved to unclothe her and rained thundering moist lip affection on her as if I learned from Eros and Zeus at once. Without thought did I know to search for the arch architects used to model that metal bridge in California or the one in New York or any other that awes you as you cross it on your journeys. I crossed hers and laved her burning flesh with a tongue still hotter. The smell of summer came through an open window while a vent above the steadily shrinking bed proffered cool air whose fate it was to be heated only moments later, as if in disdain of being different. So we moved in aching anticipation, in constant touch, and urgent lips and our sweatbeads rose until I felt a saline drop drip from the tip of my nose. The moment that it fell into her hair, I fell into her, all deliberate. She caught her breath and we began.
Though I sought her Nile, I needed no oars.