Flash -
Crackle,
A hiss of skin under blue light.
Mouths moving in silence,
the shine on a clavicle,
hot breath,
sweat.
And hands that never touch.
Not enough,
just too much -
bite the tongue that probes,
eat the moment,
breathe
and then...
Reach -
through the fuzz.
Find,
seek,
search for...
a mode,
a clever trick for unity,
taste the valley,
the chasm...
a path from you to me through the mess,
wound in perfume.
And self fuelled sickness.
Bound by short questions -
Drink?
Now?
My place -
Or yours?
Which sheets to mess in cold grey gloom?
The bond will fizzle -
but in which room?
About the Creator
S. A. Crawford
Writer, reader, life-long student - being brave and finally taking the plunge by publishing some articles and fiction pieces.
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