Saturday, November 6, 2010


Her dark eyes held forgotten memories and sold secrets. With the ocean crashing and breaking around her bare ankles, she gathered her skirts carefully, almost as if she was gathering her courage. From between her legs came a deep call, a whirlpool of a current of maddening desire, overpowering rationality and bringing her gasping, begging for a visit from sin. A full moon rose, big and lonely, occupying the night sky, taunting and teasing her pheromones, haunting her waking dreams.
His hands absent from her skin.
Her lips meet only air as his words fall from grace, turning from promises into lies. She gathered her skirts, her knuckles turning white from the pressure of her fingers clenched tightly upon the silks, almost to the point of breakage. As her heart beats to the rhythm of the rising tide, she turns her face defiantly up to the moonlight. Insanity whispered softly , sweetly invocating her infatuation. With the stable half of her mind gone, and with barely enough control, she breaks her skirts, tearing the fabric as if she was tearing at her soul. Tears going home.
His hands absent from her skin.
Alone and walking naked, she was welcomed into the sea. Memories drowned and secrets unraveled as her tears went home. From between her legs, the call rang hollow and unanswered. From within her heart, love manifested into wreckage as its call echoed back unrequited.
His hands
Beautiful in its uselessness
Perfect like a professionally-taken photograph
His words
Rare as its occasion
Perfect like prose poetry
Quickly becoming a scarce commodity
As the sea claims her and damn
His hands absent from her skin.

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