Proof of Life
I took you on the white counter late one night in Hells Kitchen. Moonlight mixed with the incandescence of 42nd Street and fell through the window, through your hair, making your pale breasts glow and blur in the gloom. We struggled to find the center, to get as close as our bodies would allow. Closer, closer, until all I wanted was to split you open, tear you open, so I could climb right in. Biting, fighting. Wet, salty, you spilled over me, and our strained breathing matched pace. And our proof of life left: a Rorschach blot of your blood. Our little mandala.
I took you on the white counter late one night in Hells Kitchen. Moonlight mixed with the incandescence of 42nd Street and fell through the window, through your hair, making your pale breasts glow and blur in the gloom. We struggled to find the center, to get as close as our bodies would allow. Closer, closer, until all I wanted was to split you open, tear you open, so I could climb right in. Biting, fighting. Wet, salty, you spilled over me, and our strained breathing matched pace. And our proof of life left: a Rorschach blot of your blood. Our little mandala.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
brightredscream:
That's rather beautiful
niobe:
I am up each day by 5. So I will enjoy not having to get up at 5 for a few days. 