She looks at the camera lens and sees such a smug and she wonders what could have possibly happened. It causes her to think and think and come up with ideas like "Someone licked it?" and "Water dripped on it?" and then she notices that it’s a finger print, so very delicately placed, so very easily added. She thinks, "How could it make such an impression?" because on skin it blends in, like her. She blends in, like the familiar house on Lemon Street. Yes, the street where he lives; him, the musician, whom didn’t blend in.

He was always best known as "The Porous Piper" whom played on Lemon Street in the main part of East Esedein town. With a flash of guiding brain whispers and a brief recollection of thoughts and she decided that this smudged camera was his camera (now smudged) and needed to be cleaned. 'P. Piper would not like it if I smudged his equipment...', she said aloud to herself, her long golden brown hair flowing behind her like a fan, the wind grabbing it from her head.

She fingered her lacy bra, thumb in the inside and pointing finger touching the wiring on the bottom, playing with it until it fitted her physique better. Headlong into the wind the girl began her journey to her house at the edge of the South forest, bare intent on retrieving a special lens cleaning cloth for the camera.

He met her on the path by the small creak where the sun was always shining on one spot or other, even seemingly so at night hours because of the large amounts of yellow and gold and red flowers (what were their names again? Her brother told her once...) that seemed to light it up, specks of glitter looking pollen which reminded her of fairy dust falling to the earth on both sides . She meant to continue walking even when she saw him, to just ignore his shadow that only she could see from being with him so long. But, The Piper's camouflaged back turned around, and his dark lips moved and his tongue followed and she wondered why she always thought she wouldn’t see him on her way back.

"Pip down, child, you don't want wolfs to hear you're yipping."

Of course, she was always loud compared to him. She was as silent as a whisper, but he was death itself, never making a sound, so quit that you almost can’t imagine him thinking. The golden haired girl was wondering about all this when he said something else.

"When you run through the forest you should never forget to bring your basket in case you come across some secret mushrooms; but be careful, they may be poisonous."

He waited for her to finish the thoughts – their thoughts. Of course she would.

"Her little gnomes like to sneak out and disease everything with icy glares and hateful articulation. They let the cat out to kill innocent birds who actually know the meaning of air but no one cares anymore about such small things."

It was no iambic pentameter base poem that they were receipting; it probably wasn’t even following along the lines of any other poem rules and regulations, but it wasn’t exactly a poem itself, anyway. It had no feet style or rhyme scheme, but a secret message.

"Only you did, and only you alone might see - might even breathe it." P. Piper’s smile reminded her of the feline in her next line.

"The cat is closer now, sides panting, tongue flicking, eyes searching, but you don't let in, my child, because you trust that one voice of which you created yourself."

She took his hand into her own delicate palm and they walked side by side down the path some more, eyes straight ahead, mouths set. It reminded her of the time she asked why they called him "The Porous Piper" because doesn't 'Porous' mean filled with pores and permeable by water and air and other stuff? As far as she knew then, he wasn't filled with pores and he was far from permeable, but later he told her that the name was the irony of the people and he could not change it. She wanted to ask why not but decided against it since it appeared to be quite embarrassing for him.

Cradling her thoughts into her arms and throwing them out of her mind she turned to the task at hand: taking care of Piper. Developed a long time ago was a habit of hers were she memorized his face expression and eye glint at different times where he was not himself (whatever his 'self' really was) so she would be prepared for other times when he may have the same expression. She had an extraordinary memory, but often enough the golden haired young lady abused it by trusting she would remember everything and anything. Over time her memory scaled down to that of a normal persons from her constant telling herself to believe it and not write something down, as if her memory were an old pal, and soon she found it hard to even recall if she had put the kettle on or not. Yet she was young, barely eighteen, living in a wilderness and learning more, and here was her memory fading. Maybe being with him long really was dangerous....

And now she had a difficult task of remembering if she’d seen this face on him before, that raised right eyebrow with those twisted lips and those slanted eye lids (it is possible to raise an eyebrow and squint at the same time for a man of his talent, really). Piper’s fingers were no longer pressing against her knuckles since they found their way to her hair, burying themselves into the curly strands of golden brown locks and ebony ribbons. His palm rested on the right side of her scalp as the digits twisted themselves tighter and tighter yet into her curls, an odd, and slightly painful, sensation with an overall end of thrilling revelation running through her body from his bold touch.

The couple soon reached her little cottage at the end of the wood, by the large and looming willow tree. A little bench was seated under this willow, covered with moss and acting as a resting place for weary little blue birds, which pecked at its surface with their little beaks. Piper shooed the creatures away, and sat in the exact middle of the stone bench. Since there was very little room left once the middle was occupied, the golden haired girl knew immediately that he wanted her to sit in his lap. Setting the camera down in a small flower bed of violets by small, brass candle holders set in the ground, she seated herself on Piper's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. He pushed his face into the side of her neck, and she felt him giving her butterfly kisses, as his lips tasted the very bottom of her jaw, and his breath tickled her collarbone. She waited patiently for him to rely to her what was so vexing him as she ran her hand in gentle motions through his near-white hair, while drawing imaginary pictures in his left shoulder with her opposite hand. Piper's right arm twisted like a serpent around her waist, and his right traveled up under her shirt to lie on her back, warming his always cold hand on her warm backside. Just about when she was risking asking him what troubled his mind so, Piper spoke.

"They are back, Porcelain."

She was more surprised at his using her nickname than at the information he supplied her, but once she got over the fact, her eyes became wide and her mouth opened to speak.

"But, Piper, did you not say-"

He did not want to say whichever he had once said, apparently, as he leaned her head down toward him and interlocked their lips. She felt his passion and want as his arms tightened around her firmly and his tongue invaded her molars and cavity, and at the same time his heart was bumping up against hers in an odd dance that she thought unlikely of him. Breaking off the kiss, he left her starry aid with lips of orange marmalade, feeling almost dizzy and a tad bit confused. Piper brought it further through, as well, when he grabbed Porcelain’s nap hair and pulled her head back, exposing that silk and forbidden neck of hers. Advancing upon her skin, he licked her twice and then proceeded to suck lightly, but right when Porcelain that he was completely loosing his normal state of mind, all stopped, and even the birds in the willow tree were watching them.

"Aye, yes, they are a problem." He breathed, light fingers running themselves all around the canvas of her light and straight back. Piper brought her head down again, and just when Porcelain thought he would kiss her again, he whispered, "Please, dear, clean my camera."

The color in his eyes were changed, and she only wished, but for one day, that his passion would last for her, and not other matters in the world.