| (no subject) |
[Jun. 14th, 2004|02:02 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  gloomy | ] |
Having had a terrible time of getting dressed, I was apprehensive about disrobing. In front of him, however, I wore my nudity like a prize, and the look on his face was as if he had discovered a rare flower blooming. And as his hands found their way upon my skin, I felt a charge like electricity race into my heart from, first, my arm, and as he made his way along my torso down toward my legs, the shock of his gentle touch sent waves of incredible delight through straight to my head.
If only I could hold onto this feeling forever. If only I could hold onto him.
But in the morning he was done with me, and I, used and wasted, felt discarded as I sat in wait for him on the edge of eternity--a moist bedsheet between myself and the memory of what had happened.
And my lips are raw beneath red lipstick and gloss; my legs wear dark discolorations under stockings where his hands have been; and on my skin I wear the scent of him; of his body; of our lust and hunger, acted upon.
I am tired, and I loathe the daylight. |
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
lamortexiii's journal