(no subject)

[neo651]

Her sensual curves rustle against pressed sheets.
Her soft voice breaks the silence of the sunlit room;
she moans in satisfaction of a heavy night’s sleep
after a passionate romp the evening before.
She turns towards you and places her hand on your chest.
Her supple skin razes a trail of goose bumps
as her hand comes to a stop at your bicep
and her head comes to rest on your chest.
She closes her eyes,
you open your heart.
Your head is high, your chest is bursting
and you’ve lost control of the muscles above your neck.
Death could come to claim you in the here and now
and you would follow willingly
because it’s all downhill from here.
You know there’s a word for this,
but you gave up believing in that
when you stopped believing in God and humanity.
What else is there left to trust?
Maybe that’s why you’ve become so bitter.
Maybe that’s why for every ounce of indescribable bliss
comes a portion of hollow pain.
A cavity in your ideals,
rotted out by date-movies and day time television.
How you’ve managed not to cry out in pain
you may never understand.
All you know is that the tighter you hold her,
the more the pressure alleviates the pain.
Her voice rattles softly again.
She’s waking up.
You’d better let go before she slips through your fingers.
Time to raise the drawbridge again.