Friday, March 15, 2013

A Silent Lullaby

"There was a soft click of the doorknob. Barefoot, she came in. Another soft click to shut the door. He turned the wheelchair to face her. She crossed the floor, stopped, her thighs touching the armrest. Black trousers flecked with yellow dust, toenails painted lavender rose. Black shirt sweat stained on the front, unbuttoned along the V opening that framed her skin like white satin. Gently she cradled his head in her bosom. He shut his eyes, inhaling the warm heat from her skin. The smells of grass and pollen, of fern and pine cones, of hay and dust, of a sunny meadow brought home. When he kissed the skin of her chest, she said, Have you just smoked, and he nodded, knowing nothing escaped her unseen. He nuzzled her, pushing back the front of her shirt like a child at feeding time. Moments later he saw the front buttons undone and the meadow warmth from under the fabric rushed into his nostrils. Milky white was her skin that glowed with a devilish fervor; with his face uptilted he let himself be caressed on the head, drown in her intoxicating scent."

No comments:

Post a Comment