The nearly shut door provides a sliver of a glimpse into a
room, glowing like the pearlescent interior of a razor clam; from outside,
phantom voyeurs stand, spying through the mask of shadows.
Seated on the edge of the dream steeped bed, a tapestry of
fabric patterns, colors, textures, press into her petite stature, keeping her
feet from resting flush to the floor. Through
the cover of a soft cotton sheet, her small hands grasp the thick corded edge
of the mattress, her tight fists giving her fear away, her stomach laced with
sweet anticipation, alive in her sensitized skin. She tilts her head to meet his eyes. Before her he stands, clad in worn jeans, his
illustrated form, emblazoned with a life captured in steady hand lines and
blood infused ink. Her eyes leave his to
trail the few paths of flesh that carry tales as old as his creation. Her welcoming eyes return to his pensive
stare, his face wearing heavy uncertainty in tense jaw lines, as he awaits the
predictable scrutiny. Her soft full lips
slowly, quietly, bloom into a shy smile that he reciprocates with a warm,
well-worked hand, cupping her cheek, his thumb reading the unspoken on her
lips. His hand slides to her chin, where
his thumb and curled finger stabilize her, gently lifting, she standing into
his tall, slim frame. He paces himself
as he bends towards her; studying, cementing to his memory, every aspect of her
in that moment…kissing her, breaking the alliance he made with anger...she
kissing him back, nourishing him with one whispered word…“Beautiful.”
E.A. O'Connell
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