The two bodies, glazed with perspiration, were sprawled along the bed. The covers had lazily woven between their limbs, replicating the actions of him who threaded his fingers through her hair. Enamoured with her beauty, he lowered to bless a kiss on her lips, sighing aloud once it was over.
I love you.
A phrase that frightens, that bonds, that sweetens a moment to the extent of encompassing all other noise.
I love you.
Falling off his lips in a sequence of beguiling cataracts and burning into her mind like a thrilling scorn.
The sun made its appearance, seeping through the blind and into the midst of their occasion. She raised her hand, allowing it to mark the mount on her palm, allowing it to feel as though she held a brief bit of the sun's light.
She raised her hand further to meet his cheek, leaving the gleam in a gentle glide for her lover. The supple skin molded with her touch. Caressing, caressing, caressing, till she dragged a finger along his lips; lips that invoked pleasure, in company with extended masses of yearning and uncertainty; anticipating for the inevitable downfall; anticipating for when she could no longer lay kisses onto the face she enjoyed too much.
She couldn't trust his utterance of love. She could only trust what was tangible; what she could feel and see. He made her question her hostilities towards love, but to no resolve.
Nonetheless, she enveloped his lips in an act of reassurance. He was lured lower and lower until his elbows, that punctured the mattress, nearly gave way.
Breaking it off, he breathed into the pulp of her cheek, pecking it unconsciously.
You don't have to say it back.
He plunged his hand into her chest and grappled for her heart, tightening his grasp till he rendered it still... or so it felt it was what he'd done.
It was foreign to know a man like him, one that didn't push and become aggrieved by her lifelessness, so she basked in its rarity, and succumbed to her sabotaging worries.
She pleaded her faith as she had done before, but assured there will always be an emptiness in her words, one that'll become fragile enough to break off with ease, and overwhelm her with a feeling of malaise. He brushed his thumb along her cheek and whispered to her that she needn't worry with requiting the same levels of affection, for he bared his heart not to have it resolved, but only to have it heard.
YOU ARE READING
an air of stately melancholy
Poetrymy desperation and longing is rotting me. i cannot be both patient and happy, nor pleasantly hopeful without derangement. i make life anguished in the meantime to scorn myself. what you see here are some things i do when i think my desperation into...
