Friday; bolognese, candles, fudge.
Kisses... Darkness.
But it wasn’t a hollow, stale, heavy kind
of darkness.
It was that kind of darkness that envelopes
you, the kind that is atmosphered by the lingering tastes of good food.
It was the kind of darkness that is injected
with the desirable smokey-vanilla-strawberry aroma of candles, whose flames died
long ago, because two sets of devouring lips, together, have cut off the air supply.
It was a kind of darkness that was stained
with shiny moon powder; just enough of it to accentuate the thick, full lips,
the banana-cherry-peachy beams of skin,
the mass of silky coils,
the breasts that stand-fall kissable…
And I made sure that I bent this way and
that, so that my curves could bounce off the moon powder, at the right angles;
at the softest angles;
at the most alluring angles…
Then he became almost innocent in his vulnerability
and that’s when I knew that I loved this new kind of darkness; this sensual, sweaty,
moony, touchy, candle-laced, weird-but-sexily-delicious-smelling kind of darkness.
It was only the beginning…
Fridays;
bolognese, candles, fudge. Kisses... Darkness.
No comments:
Post a Comment