Bonbons in a glass jar tempt me; a jar of chopped-up rainbow. I swirl a yellow one around my mouth, expect the zing and tang of fresh lemon. I spit it into my hand when no one is looking and bury it in a potted ficus by the TV set. I hate bananas. My husband devours them instead of crisps and candy. I smell them on his clothes; just a hint, through wood-spice aftershave and whiskey.
I inhale roses and jasmine in the garden, stroke my forearm with a yellow rose petal. Its satin caress excites minuscule hairs and sends tingles to my fingertips. Through squares of trellis, I see the couple next door under their awning, intertwined. His hands devour her, and I know he smells of lemons. I imagine lying on moist grass early in the morning, with dewdrops clinging to my flesh like the cold sweat of anticipation on skin. Wet, glassy beads reflect pieces of him; they’re all over my body while nearby, grasshoppers buzz. His scent of lemon zest stirs the ache of what could be mine.
I am a glass for my husband too, but a cloudy one, where lemonade looks like dishwater. He no longer drinks me; prefers to drink from clear crystal goblets while I hide in the long grass surrendering to illicit desire, alone. This saves me from further temptation, that pulls me next door to a man who once stroked my glass skin–smooth yet silky, with his fingertips.
About the Creator
Inhaling life, exhaling stories, poetry, prose, flash or fusions. An imperfect perfectionist who writes and recycles words. I write because I love how it feels to make ink patterns & form words, like pictures, on a page.
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Original narrative & well developed characters
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions