going home...
"a crime never commited"
four A.M., our moans carry on rhythimcally and move out through the door to places they shouldn't.
she cradles my head and lets her fingers rake deep into my hair.
"don't go." she whispers in her most seductive voice.
scented candles and rose petals; so cliche, but they do the trick every time.
a wave of nausea hits me as another mix of cheap aromatic wax and decaying florals enter my heavily breathing nose.
the moving shadows cast onto her face distort it to appear docile, yet scared.
she knows exactly what she's doing.
so do i.
i gently kiss her forehead and promise that i will stay for another fifteen minutes.
we sigh.
we're quiet.
the perspiration on our skin is not dry yet.
"so, this isn't awkward?" i ask.
she makes a noise that sounds as if she's just been awakend suddenly from the first good dream she's had in a while.
"no. not if we don't make it awkward. asking questions will. so don't ask questions." she says bluntly.
i let out another sigh and turn my head. scanning the floor, i map out my clothes so i can make my escape appear as if i wasn't caught up in the passionate and primal act of de-robing a couple hours prior.
"well ok, then. so i will see you soon." i say.
"was that a question?"
"no. but THAT was. you're making this awkward."
"shut up."
i put on my clothes without looking at her.
she stands up and sleepily smooths her hair.
we exit the room.
as we make the short journey down the stairs and towards the front door i try to unfog my mind and think of some non-chalant, yet not too cold goodbye.
"so what are you doing on sunday?" is what comes out of my mouth.
"probably working."
"ok. cool. well i..."
"i'll call you."
i grit my teeth behind my lips and kiss her on the cheek.
"you got it." i say trying to hide the shaking in my voice.
i pull away from her house.
i scream.
i scream again.
i go home.
i write a poem.
i have trouble falling asleep.
she doesn't call the next day.
she doesn't call the day after that...
four A.M., our moans carry on rhythimcally and move out through the door to places they shouldn't.
she cradles my head and lets her fingers rake deep into my hair.
"don't go." she whispers in her most seductive voice.
scented candles and rose petals; so cliche, but they do the trick every time.
a wave of nausea hits me as another mix of cheap aromatic wax and decaying florals enter my heavily breathing nose.
the moving shadows cast onto her face distort it to appear docile, yet scared.
she knows exactly what she's doing.
so do i.
i gently kiss her forehead and promise that i will stay for another fifteen minutes.
we sigh.
we're quiet.
the perspiration on our skin is not dry yet.
"so, this isn't awkward?" i ask.
she makes a noise that sounds as if she's just been awakend suddenly from the first good dream she's had in a while.
"no. not if we don't make it awkward. asking questions will. so don't ask questions." she says bluntly.
i let out another sigh and turn my head. scanning the floor, i map out my clothes so i can make my escape appear as if i wasn't caught up in the passionate and primal act of de-robing a couple hours prior.
"well ok, then. so i will see you soon." i say.
"was that a question?"
"no. but THAT was. you're making this awkward."
"shut up."
i put on my clothes without looking at her.
she stands up and sleepily smooths her hair.
we exit the room.
as we make the short journey down the stairs and towards the front door i try to unfog my mind and think of some non-chalant, yet not too cold goodbye.
"so what are you doing on sunday?" is what comes out of my mouth.
"probably working."
"ok. cool. well i..."
"i'll call you."
i grit my teeth behind my lips and kiss her on the cheek.
"you got it." i say trying to hide the shaking in my voice.
i pull away from her house.
i scream.
i scream again.
i go home.
i write a poem.
i have trouble falling asleep.
she doesn't call the next day.
she doesn't call the day after that...