There stands the mirror, clouded with anticipation. You sense the supple lily note laced in the mist; cool glass bottle in hand. It's soft like your pillow, yet stark like the passion of the one eye you can see reflecting off the surface.
So you inhale and remind yourself that he loves it. You see the rise and fall of your chest as breath escapes you. Lean forward and capture the condensation in the cup of your hand; let it run from your fingers to your wrist. There you feel it, there you see it. Smiling back at you is the reassurance of fidelity
He wouldn't dare.
So you race down the stairs at the sound of his keyring. He looks honest, he smells clean. With hands scrubbed white you seize him and bestow your ritual pleasure. Let it be known dearest.
A kiss is half promise, half warning.
1 comment:
I drew and wrote this after listening to the Radio Dept. for a week.
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