Quixotic
| She
sighs a few syllables at a time. Just to show him that even if she isn't speaking she has all the right feelings. (She's a vacant lover for the taking.) Intuition vibrates in her eardrums; 'Don't take this to heart.” But his mumbles tickle an, “I love you more” across the moon of her jaw. (They'll never be in love, and this is meant to be obvious.) Synapses squeak a weak protest and veins pulse in groans against what she does and does not know about an extended love affair that has lost the element of conquest. And she takes it on the chin, a champ with a smirk. Competing; Kiss for kiss and strum for stroke. Tender touch for each caress, and a nymph’s sigh for every guttural moan he (strategically) lets slide. She holds her ever tempted tongue. Hushing words inside her throat, (hoping to suspend the battle) as his lips lower toward the site of this simple civil war. (Be vacant and beautiful, silly girl.) Syllabic sighs so light the breeze could get carried away. Her heart too tight to arrange letters into words she’ll never say.
© 2012 NaivelyMe (All rights reserved)
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