hollydeebs
When it happens you know it's getting good. The two tiny puddles of sweat meet, right at the perfect and rise and fall of each other's skin. If someone could detect that, see some slow-motion, close-up, high-definition replay of that sun dipped liquid, they'd know it was really damn good.
Skyline eyes - and when his eyelids drooped to the horizon they blocked the gleam of the sun; I couldn't see it rise or set, couldn't tell what time of day it was inside there, saw nothing but stagnant ocean water around the pupils.
I thought I might want to force myself to cry. I didn't understand why there wasn't more of something swelling up inside me, bloating wonderful and warm. If I could cry I'd smear my tears on the frieze, all across it, run to the very end while dragging my tear-damp hands across the white surface.
It was fleeting. It flowed downward, lazily and smugly.
Yet more harrowing evidence of how we amounted to nothing. I shined his shoes with my spit, frothy and glistening.
Pearly strands dangle from my rose gums like a crystalline chandelier was torn from each cable and crashed on my flexing tongue, shattering its grandeur everywhere.
They were cut of lace and emanated a glittering sadness. I thought sewing them on might hold but they remained limp.