Memories of three-inch stilettos and stockinged feet kneeling before pale legs crowd in on her as tears threaten to overwhelm her resolve. She’s cried too many tears over him; no more. Except, when the memories bear down on her it’s hard to keep them from running crystal pathways down her porcelain cheeks. Moments of laughter, moments, of contentment, moments of passion. It’s the intimacy she misses: butterfly kisses, hard caresses, lips, tongues, teeth, flesh.

Thirty second climaxes brought about with throat and mouth; climaxes he used to swear he’d never achieved by oral fixation. Her bruised flesh, tender to the touch, brought upon by exquisite pleasure. Then there was the moment the pleasure turned to pain: her pain. Tears and confessions, a shattered spirit beginning to heal because of supposedly sincere words. Words that turned to ash as the excuses dripped from his lips on the day the tears refused to be held back. Back against the closed door, she crumpled to the ground an anguished cry silenced as salt water streamed. For want of one more kiss, one more dance of tongues, one more fevered embrace, she’s made a decision too quick to be sane, too slow to be fleeting.

Blond hair, blue eyes, hard muscle, sweet smile. Whispered conversation, bubbling laughter. A brush of legs, a lingering gaze; swift seduction is always easy, but it rarely ever feels right. They play the game, both of them knowing that’s all it is; knowing it’s only a temporary ease from the ache of their broken hearts, hoping to find some semblance of solace in each others’ arms. She beckons, he follows; he touches, she yearns. The music gets louder, the lights get brighter; their bodies embrace as they take temptation to the dance floor. Fingers in his hair, hands around her waist, flesh moving in tandem to some secret melody inside their heads; mere moments on the dance floor turn banked lust into a raging tempest.

His hands lock her arms to her side as she twists around, blue eyes meeting brown; stockinged feet tiptoe off three-inch stilettos as her face lifts to his and his hands slip under her shirt. Their lips touch as the music and crowd fades; her body ignites as her spirit shatters once more.

Not really a proper piece, but it needed to be written; comments always welcome :) -BR

© Briar Rose

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