lithalmarie
Long believed to be average, or maybe less than, or maybe just slightly more than, now we find that we are anything but. Average. In the light of the other's eyes, what was average, uninteresting, unremarkable, takes on a sheen. And this, this is not. Just. Average.
It's been said that looks deceive, but I have found the opposite. Words deceive, laughter deceives, but looks, those always tell the truth. The face is a difficult thing to control, and I am a reader of faces.
This stage is centerstage in my mind. A very odd conglomeration of what could have been, what might be, what should be, what is. A runaway stagecoach.
sink your fangs into me. the rush and rage of lust in my blood will make your head swim. the pulse in my neck, the touch of your fingertips as they dance on my skin. sink your fangs deep.
It tastes like an adventure, this. But there is Scylla on one hand and Charybdis on the other and I'm wondering about my first analysis. The rush as the ship left the port is gone, and I'm past the sirens and looking for home. This adventure is long enough.
I have been missing you for months now. I missed you that day on the ultrasound - a dark place where you should have been. I have missed you all summer. I miss you as October turns to November, the month you were due. You are missed, child. Missed.
a long low sound, clear as a bell, rolling over the waves, over the surf, over the rocks, blossoming pure and sweet and deadly from the island. tie me up and stop my ears. i hear it and i cannot resist. i have seen the world, but i cannot resist this.
writing since 2010 · 9 entries · 8 days shown up
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