The Boy from Wednesday Moaning (Intro: Excerpt)

“You smell like cigarettes”, she said.


“That’s because I smoke”, he said.


            She liked it−the pungent smell. She didn’t say it. She just buried herself into his spirit and nuzzled into his soul, trying to grab hold of all things lovely, beautiful, things that made her bubbly, and the memories that him so bold. Her nose tickled his chest and he rested his head onto hers. (His arms encapsulating her body).


“How are your arms so soft, do you shave them?” she asked.


“I don’t know-no I don’t?” he asked.


            She envied him−the beautiful smooth skin. She didn’t say that. She only let her fingers dance circles around his veins, letting her nervousness write into him leaving letters of her instability in his goose bumps. Tracing him, like the slime of a snail journeying across a footpath.  He kissed her. Pushed her back, and kissed her.


“Lay down”, he said.


“We’re not having sex”, she said.


            The music that played in the room: the silence, the breathing, the panting, the thundering heartbeats-it was intended for keeping still and observing other forms of movement. Everything about their bodies was kinetic and they coexisted on the moonlight’s glowing blood that bled ivory into her room-onto her bed-down her floor... expanding in her pores. His lust she could not ignore and the music-that music: the silence, the breathing, the panting, the bellowing heartbeats; it became bombastic and started swirling and flowing through the hushed moans that whispered amidst their cradling tongues. They swirled. They danced. They moved; like the shoulder blades of a giant striding feline creature crouching through some kind of tunnel. Cutting counterbalance, coughing into each other’s smoke. His grunting and absorption of her soul through the love their eyes made shook in her spirit. She was new to this. She wasn’t expecting this. What was hers and what was his... they were one. Melting, burning, molding, binding-wax. He ignited her and was an unyielding flame. The chemistry of their bodies’ sweat−the music they composed with her leaking morality and his outpouring sexual immortality. A captivating and enthralling sound with harmonies that were tattooed into her memory as a song she guilt fully anticipated escaping to again. Expanding on its enchanting and tantalizing rhythms.


“Lie down, lay back”, he said.


“We’re not having sex”, she said.


“I know”, he said… he said. And what a kiss it was…


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