He lay atop the gazing
rock, clouds of india ink morphing against the indigo sky.
The rolling
sweet grass crashing against her thighs, tickling her wrists and palms, releasing
the scent of summer heat against her flesh as she walked to him, climbing atop the
rock, sinking into his arms.
Eyes trained on the unfathomable depth of
night, the sky spoke with a forked tongue, heightening the electricity between them, his hands releasing a charge through her veins.
E.A. O'Connell
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