Beyond the Profile Post

I felt his presence long before he could be seen. My heart beats quicken, thudding against my chest. It felt so heavy yet light, with anticipation. Trying to control my breathing. As to appear calm and collected. My breasts rise and fall, pulling taunt the fabric of his t-shirt. My hands seek purchase for something to do.

Remembering that I was preparing his supper, I tried so desperately to pull myself together. Reaching for the knife and peppers, my flesh heats up. I can feel him staring at me. Not a word has slipped through his lips. Breathing deep, adjusting my stance, wondering what he's thinking.

I don't dare turn around. Knowing as soon as I do everything around me will just fade into nothingness. Keeping my back in perfect posture so it presents my ass full and inviting. I grin knowing exactly what I'm doing. Standing bare foot in only his t shirt, wanting the essence of him to linger with me all day.

My skin tingles, the hairs stand on end. Electricity awakening every cell in my being. I can feel him, almost touching, but not. His soft puffs of breath, moves through the strands of my hair, that has escaped my messy bun. Pulling my shoulders up and slightly leaning back, just so I can brush my ass against him. His nose caress the shell of my ear. I bite my lip to keep the sigh from escaping.

Forgetting their duty of slicing, my hands grib the counter's edge. My knees want to buckle, I want to press my whole wanting, needy body into him. But I refrain with strength unbeknownst to me. He is my kryptonite, my undoing.
 
Great way to end - precisely because you've built the eroticism - then stop with "undoing" - double meaning (at least) - and you leave the reader wanting it to go further. Suspended attention :) Nice
 
for you love lifts the dust into a form of clay
and from a madhouse comes the perfect play
from which the clay might find its way to you

along that way, through secret chambers of the heart
voices drift in hallways seeking you in each echo

this body is the noise of my world
that carries the silence of my soul
five slaves carrying a chamber—
colored curtains veiling emptiness
 
Who is it to be, forward one pace.
The chosen amongst many, whom shall take face.
To stand alone, yes
To stand where never has there been so few.


Who is it that will speak for all ?
To answer the charge...to....The Evil that Men Do.
Again and again we as one answered to guilty are we, yes guilty are we.

Not a single answer unjust, misplaced, nor undue.
And just as it was told,
In the stories of books, now sadly forgotten,
Dampened with dew, Withered with age,

That there will come a time were we all get called.
But only some get saved.
 
Last edited:
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top