At the stoke of midnight he got out of bed. He tapped her gently to
make sure she was still sleeping. Then, he got dressed with lightning
speed and prepared to leave.
But before he left, he went to her bathrooms mirror, picked up her
darkest kohl and scrawled in in unmistakable cursive, "Think of me
tomorrow 'cause I'll still be thinking of you"
Thursday, September 23, 2010
In the stillness of the aching blue morning, neither has the strength to speak. Silence stirs restless between them. It descends quick into an endless chasm of black pain, flying swift on the wings of a menacing bat out of hell. Yet they move, skin on skin in the lifting shadows. Dark eyes move tender and the silence is torn by blades of desire that cut deep blood red. Skin on skin again, and all those nerve endings tingle bright passion pink. They taste touch, those nerves. They lick in the sweetness of the air and saltiness of an early morning sweat as it begins. They breathe each other's very being. The sunrise bathes the walls with gentle orange light as they rise and fall slowly - separate, yet together. Like the flash of dawn they know what it is and they feel all they could never live without.