Days and nights passed. I kissed her mouth and her neck. I kissed her breasts and her belly. I kissed her lower than her belly and was pleased with the ripples of pleasure I found there. She was dainty and sweet, a dish of figs in fine weather.
We were approaching the inevitable, but we weren't there yet.
Days and nights. Days and nights connected by rivets of pleasure. Our furnace of love heated time and welded together the separateness of the hours, so that time became what the prophet says it is - continuous, unbroken.
To me, these days will never end. I am always there, in that room with her, or if not I, the imprint of myself - my fossil-love and you discover it.
Jeanette Winterson, The Powerbook
