Plinky.com asked me to write a passage in the style of a romance novel.
She was succulent, ready. Ripe. She swelled, full of goodness, all energy and life-affirming possibility.
He climbed the mis-formed wooden ladder, keeping her fully in his gaze, fearful that were he to look away she would become nothing more than ephemera, a ghost that had never graced this wooded canopy.
How far he had travelled to this high spot, how long the journey. Through blasted earth and wasted deserts, through boggy marsh and sinking sand. He had journeyed with only the promise of this final encounter, this final sweet embrace.
This possibility of a single kiss.
His pace increased now, eager to be with her, completely and totally. Looking left and right, he saw other suitors, all racing with similar abandon to his own. He redoubled his efforts, climbing faster, ever faster. Up, up, up.
And finally he was upon her, touching her. And how she yielded to him, how luscious beneath his touch; her length, her width her unimaginable depths. A kiss for her lips and then he dived into her, letting himself fall, fall, fall; her sweet nectar enveloped him and he drank, suffocating in that sweet, sweet embrace.
They were together now. Forever. Completely. Totally.