Friday, 7 March 2008

Slow waltzing.

I breathed out slowly, there, on the right side of his neck. I could feel his breath quicken, his pulse, pounding through to my chest. My heart, the mortar to his pestle, ringing with each strike.

I withdrew my hand from his vibrant hair, holding between my tapered fine fingers, a white feather. How significant.

I held the feather between my finger and thumb, maintaining eye contact with him as I smiled flirtatiously and showed it to him.

“Here - it is a sign. What do you think this means?”

I did not move away from the closeness of his chest. I tickled him with the feather. The ears, travelling to his lids, that closed in expectation of ecstasy down to his lips and there it stayed…lingering…as I bring my other hand to his….

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