3.5 hours / Fire in the sky

Sprinting towards the door, pillows in hand. I am close on your heals dragging an arm full of blankets. Barge through the plate glass door and breathe in the warm July air. The smell of bonfires and the light from fireworks welcomes us. Open the creaking brown door and climb inside our sanctuary. Draw the blinds, and get down to work, time to make some fireworks of our own. We litter the floor with our fabric, shedding the burdens of buttons and draw strings. Our bodies rise and fall as our hearts simply fall. Your hips swing, and your eyes invite me, intrigue me, and swallow me whole. Your legs wrapped around me like silky boa constrictors. All previous partners were simply practices for this night, baby. We were constructed for each other, no one else but ourselves.
A marathon run completed, we lay sweaty and intertwined. Nothing could be more perfect, the first snow fall doesn’t even hold a candle to this night.
We watch the sun rise, as we hold each other close, tracing the lines and curves of our bodies with graceful finger tips and soft kisses.
I dare them to question us; I beg them to attempt to comprehend.

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Driving in the van which doubles as our weekend home, we experience for the first time what we have worked so hard for. Smiles flood the faces of all who occupy the seats.
In what can only be described as epic, explosions in the sky seem to be timed perfectly with the sounds escaping from the speakers we have fabricated. Colorful bursts of lights mixed with stabbing snare drums and pounding bass tones create a recipe for goose bumps as we drive this waterfront highway.
"Well, we can’t stay here" has a whole new meaning.