Can there be anything more precious than dragging your trembling palm from the place where her soft pelvis becomes a warm glassy thigh, caressing the skin while allowing your soul get under the muscle and and all the way up to her brain?
The bumpy road your steady hand decided to entreprend will be rewarded by a small soft foot smelling of zen lilly and nights spent drinking burgundy. The bells under your waist will go on ringing, making your whole inside shake in delight. The sticks striking the stretched drumskin, the callous fingers scratching the guitar cords, the voice of a man with a beating heart coming out of his throat are there to suit your moods and help the limbcontinue its downward spiral adventure.
Half way down-thigh road, the palm must remain static, patiently waiting, while the emerald of your eyes and her deep black pearls try to reach an agreement, fragments become seconds that feel like hours enjoyed like years spent together in this cloud of breath and sweat. A mutual rythmic frown calls for the mouths hanging ajar to come close and share warm saliva and dreams built on infantile dreams of adult never-ending happiness.
After a peachy almost moldable knee that make every promise you made to yourself empty, Black knee high thights welcome your fingers into a nylon eden.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
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