The Quiet Words After

The room became cold.

Not from the chill of this winter night, it lost warmth because of your sudden absence.

I muster a faint smile of what had been, of the union, of the liberties, of the quiet words after, spoken and not.

Your hair, a fine mess. My skin, marked with your exquisite maddness.

The flavor of you still graces my tongue. The sheets still warm and wet from where you just laghed at the edge of abandon.

The slow and heavy advance of our carnal hunger, the beautifully aggresive and gently feral manner with which we assulted each other.

I think at one point you bit me, my shoulder. I like the dull ache of that.

The dull ache.

The room became cold.



3 thoughts on “The Quiet Words After

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