she stands before him, trembling and calm.
slowly, shyly, brazenly, she undoes the buttons of her sweater.
when they run out, she crosses her arms and pulls over her head the soft pink pretense at protection. she stops when its caress encases her head, arms trapped in bondage of her own making, her bare torso springing welts as his eyes scratch her nakedness.
he takes her joined hands in his.
her powerless joy runs down her legs.
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3 comments:
OG, I love this, beautiful;
her bare torso springing welts as his eyes scratch her nakedness.
Thank you.
Warm hugs,
Paul.
yes, those were the lines that jumped out at me too - very good
oh dear... is it ok to admit that i was rather pleased with those lines myself? except to be honest, they sort of don't go with the rest of the piece. the piece is a prose vignette, with the insertion of that little bit of poetry. but i was stuck and feeling like i had to post something, so somehow i did.
i wrote every day for my demon muse, which was good for me, like practicing your instrument for 2 hours every day. but he wouldn't accept anything that wasn't as good as it could be. i sent this to dominick, who said to go ahead and post it but that i can do better. and he was right, of course, being a very good writer himself.
but it's hard for me this time of year...
i'll do better.
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