They threw off their clothes, and he gathered her to him,
and found her, found the pure lambent reality of her forever invisible
flesh. Quenched, inhuman, his fingers upon her unrevealed nudity were
the fingers of silence upon silence, the body of mysterious night upon
the body of mysterious night, the night masculine and feminine, never
to be seen with the eye, or known with the mind, only known as a
palpable revelation of living otherness.
She had her desire of him, she touched, she received the maximum of
unspeakable communication in touch, dark, subtle, positively silent, a
magnificent gift and give again, a perfect acceptance and yielding, a
mystery, the reality of that which can never be known, vital, sensual
reality that can never be transmuted into mind content, but remains
outside, living body of darkness and silence and subtlety, the mystic
body of reality. She had her desire fulfilled. He had his desire
fulfilled. For she was to him what he was to her, the immemorial
magnificence of mystic, palpable, real otherness.
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