Resting in a bed of red rose romance. Swallowed whole by a silent symphony of a smothered starlet slow dance, engulfed by an eyeless dusk; the soft smell of muslin and musk. Warmth wrapping around us like a woman's womb. Caught in contractions ready to be birthed soon. Held in the heavy arms of humidity, the darkness, damp and quite comforting. Beneath the bedsheets: this is you and me.
Pressed against the dampened flesh of a stranger scarcely met, the surface of her somatic shell shaking and soaking wet; so salty... so salty... like the sea. Burried into her breast with ear to rest upon undulating chest- there- a heart beating slow rhythms somewhere in the dark. Soaking in the sickly sweet scent of sprouting summer innocence which sinks so deep into your silken skin... I breathe you in.
In a sober semi-drunkenness, our vision a blackened blurriness where shadows snake around and strangle silhouettes. Running my fumbling fingers through tangled tawny yellow ribbons buttoned back by broken brass barrettes. A faint fragrance fills my nostrils with one familiar feeling fume- the synthetic scent of an apple orchard and cherry blossoms in bloom- it must be your shampoo.It takes me over. Her fingers linger, lightly, laying limply in the possesion of my swollen sweaty palms. Her handsome hands so slender, her spider fingers so long. On them she wore metal rings from the second-hand store and on her pointed fingertips painted a hue of blaring electric blue. Spelling out the circumfrence of circles on my skin- chills crawling up my spine as the sensation climbs.
Batting her big big blinking brown eyes, drawing me into drown within their dirty depths- those terrible tumultuous tides taking my last breath; this feels so like slow suffocation- this feels so like death. Brushing her blushing burning bright cheeks, seduced by the sheepish smile you smuggle beneth spoiled sheets. The way you lightly bite your lip when you're feeling nervous- well, i noticed- you're doing it now. I can see the wet white edges of your teeth when you bite down. Fine french feather pillows, warm, laid out by the window. Subtle sighs escaping,2 lips parted shaking. Slow breaths. Panting. No Rest. the breeze blown across my face, damp and delicate, the strong smell could intoxicate- i know it does incapacitate.
A congress of confusion. Conclusions subject to diffusion, and difficulty in denying how we really feel- though the simple thought of it is somehow so surreal. Inside my chest i must confess is caught and constricted as the consequences of anxiousness are afflicted. And burried in my belly are those butterflies, i can feel them flying- flailing- around inside.
I don't know how it happened- it just did. But i can't say that it was an accident. After all, it was contemplated- now, commemorated. Our necks stretched like swans on a frozen pond. So graceful, like we've done nothing wrong. Our lips pressed against another like artificially altered cherries in a jar: crowded for a time but eventually left with an empty heart. Though it may abide a long time, soft and static, the energy will eventually end- eventually become erratic.