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Oct. 27th, 2004 @ 10:42 pm While You Sleep
Current Mood: nervousnervous
Current Music: Muse
I guess this is my first post. I am so nervous right now. Diana xx

The air is still, silent. The only sound is your constant breathing and the steady rainfall outside the window. I watch the curtains blow in the wind, conjuring images of childhood ghosts. I can feel the cold creeping in. Jack Frost reaching out his icicle fingers to stroke my bare skin. I imagine you waking to find me frozen, a blue corpse with tears of ice stuck to my cheeks. I smile to myself and look at you; eyes shut tight, chest rising and falling steadily. You were tired. You didn’t even have the energy for a post-coital cigarette.

I’m still awake. Wired. Liquid heat is still pooled at my groin; I can still feel you inside me. But my heat is fading in the chilled air of the bedroom. I turn on my side and watch you sleep. Soaking in every detail of your face. The faint scar running down your chin, your slightly too big nose, curved lips that look cruel but could only ever be kind, your long dark eyelashes. I ache for them.

Butterfly kisses; giggle softly as they brush against my cheek.

Your entire body is a canvas. I could spend hours in this gallery of you. The sparse hair of your chest, collecting at your nipples but nowhere else. That bright pink scar running up your stomach, so pale against your naturally tan skin. I run my index finger along it, feeling its indentations, knowing each one is a memory you wish you could escape. The guide line of dark hair running from your belly button to your groin, slightly curling and perfect for wrapping up my fingers. I always find myself drifting there as if I’d left something behind. And down further to that forest of dark, tight curls, home to the source of all my pleasure.

I want to reach out and touch you but I’m afraid you’ll wake.

Down those long, skinny legs that make you so self-conscious to your beautiful feet. Toenails still painted green by a boring Sunday afternoon. I curl up at your side, my head resting on your shoulder, my hand still tracing patterns across your abdomen. I bring my feet up and place them on your legs for warmth. I close my eyes, shivering slightly as Jack Frost caresses my body like a lover. Thoughts of you flood my mind and as I drift off, I find myself drowning. Wishing you were awake to witness my appreciation but knowing it would never be the same. Our most precious moments together, I experience alone. I lay back and wonder if you view me like art, if I am your gallery just as you are mine. It always amazes me how intimate we become while you sleep.
About this Entry
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Date:November 5th, 2004 07:03 am (UTC)
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I have to say that you have a lot of skill at writing sensual prose. You elicit not only sight, but also touch, it's more of an experience than a short story, but that's what flash fiction usually is: a moment captured in time that holds resonance.
It's a Romantic piece, but then it's not. The guy is idealized, but his faults are brought up, it makes his a romantic figure but it also makes him more real.
I'll probably have more later, but yeah, this was great.

And welcome to 506. :)

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Date:November 8th, 2004 04:36 pm (UTC)
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Thank you - for both the welcome and the feedback.
I much prefer writing this way - a lot of sensory stimulation and not much going on. If that makes sense?!