I pull back and look over your bright red lips, painted fresh for this occasion. I kiss them again, this time I slip my tongue between them. Your teeth are in the way. I could always knock them out but you look so beautiful, like a painted portrait. I don’t want to disturb one hair on your body. Nothing must be out of place. You are perfection. You are my marble Aphrodite. I rub my cheek against yours. It is rosy, painted blush on white skin. I kiss both cheeks, leaving my damp imprint on your timeless skin. I want to climb in beside you, no, on top of you. But I dare not. I cannot disturb you too much. So I explore your body, with my mouth and my hands. Every orifice, every dent, every crook and every hair. Like a sculptor carving living tissue out of lifeless marble I am engrossed in my work. Time passes and I am done. I walk slowly away from you, leaving as quietly as I can and, with a last glance at you, I leave and close the morgue door behind me.
Friday, 3 May 2013
Cherry Cola by Nick Trussler
Cherry cherry cold. Your lips taste like cold soda. Cherry cola.
I pull back and look over your bright red lips, painted fresh for this occasion. I kiss them again, this time I slip my tongue between them. Your teeth are in the way. I could always knock them out but you look so beautiful, like a painted portrait. I don’t want to disturb one hair on your body. Nothing must be out of place. You are perfection. You are my marble Aphrodite. I rub my cheek against yours. It is rosy, painted blush on white skin. I kiss both cheeks, leaving my damp imprint on your timeless skin. I want to climb in beside you, no, on top of you. But I dare not. I cannot disturb you too much. So I explore your body, with my mouth and my hands. Every orifice, every dent, every crook and every hair. Like a sculptor carving living tissue out of lifeless marble I am engrossed in my work. Time passes and I am done. I walk slowly away from you, leaving as quietly as I can and, with a last glance at you, I leave and close the morgue door behind me.
I pull back and look over your bright red lips, painted fresh for this occasion. I kiss them again, this time I slip my tongue between them. Your teeth are in the way. I could always knock them out but you look so beautiful, like a painted portrait. I don’t want to disturb one hair on your body. Nothing must be out of place. You are perfection. You are my marble Aphrodite. I rub my cheek against yours. It is rosy, painted blush on white skin. I kiss both cheeks, leaving my damp imprint on your timeless skin. I want to climb in beside you, no, on top of you. But I dare not. I cannot disturb you too much. So I explore your body, with my mouth and my hands. Every orifice, every dent, every crook and every hair. Like a sculptor carving living tissue out of lifeless marble I am engrossed in my work. Time passes and I am done. I walk slowly away from you, leaving as quietly as I can and, with a last glance at you, I leave and close the morgue door behind me.
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