Sarah had become  interested in Tantra - the practice  of meditation and exercise which was a route to the transformation of one’s emotional geography, which was thought to unblock energies and heal pain. Many years ago, she had (for reasons she had forgotten) attended a Tantric Sex workshop. It had been silly in many ways, but she thought she could adapt it to her current circumstances. A woman with imagination might manage that. Sarah had, to her great surprise, fallen in love,  and she wanted to avoid the  usual pitfalls and cliches.  To talk to the body. To make it less strange. To remove from it all possibility of threat. 

She ran her index finger down his forearm. Again and again, knowing it, feeling the muscle tense and relax. This was his triceps, this was his thumb. A long, long time. She drew her finger round the whorl of his ear, the bow of his eyebrow, the line of his jaw. It was not a stimulus, but a caress.  He began to do the same. Her scapula, her neck, her nose. They were learning each other by heart. The tricky bit was the erogenous zones. They were trying to know each other, but not to arouse too much desire: and if they did, they would pause awhile.

Then something very unexpected started to happen. Along each line where their fingers or tongues had passed, miniature flowers began to grow. Tiny forget-me-nots, love-in-a-mist, love-lies-bleeding, poppies, lilies. In some places there were little waving grasses: in others, orchids. It happened so quickly that soon you could hardly see any skin at all. 

They stood back and looked at each other. Here were prairies: there were boggy places. Wild herbs, in miniscule  form, gave off a wonderful scent when you touched them. Their hair swayed like  corn in the breeze, their mouths were full of roses. Suddenly Sarah knew that the Tantra had worked. They had been each other’s wilderness. But now they had become each other’s garden.