Our love flows through this ink


Out the shower, she wrapped herself in her favorite purple towel, like a gift laid upon an empty table. Her exposed mahogany tickled by anxious steam. She pat away the tiny rivers running their course about her curves. She was reminded of him. The way he licked his lips before he kissed her, the way his hands grabbed her forcefully, yet gently, bringing her so close to him she thought she may rest in his chest forever. The morning sun dripped through her bedroom window like a babbling brook, rinsing across the neatly folded covers of a bed freshly made. Crumpled pillow cases told of balled fingers and dripping sweat, short breaths and heavy pants, the creeks and shrieks of a queen sized bed frame.

Unwrapping herself, she sat resting her heels in the fold of a pillowy alter praising her sole. Her fingers worked in circles covering her body. Cocoa butter satiate her skin wafting through the air of her roomy loft. He was with her again, massaging the aches of her honey brown shoulders. They discussed their sweet teeth then; dark chocolate specifically. They could never agree on how much, if any was a good amount to have. His fingers worked their way about her body untangling, opening, decoding.  She laughed, a low relaxed laugh, comfortable as her eyelids grew heavy.

Her eyes opened. It was cool, almost cold. She walked to the thermostat and gazed upon a dining room table that sat two. She was still unsure of the color scheme, but deciding on furniture made things feel…”too settled” and she understood that. Besides he liked them all; red with white; black with blue; purple with gray; gold leaf? It could wait. She sat in her living room, in front of the TV. She toggled through channels on which loud black women realized that men couldn’t stand their tone, and quiet black women found themselves in love, alone. He was beside her now.  The silent flickerings of late night shows displaying across their bodies like the signs of age crackling in a classic film reel. He reached for her hand, pulling her body close, again, placing his lips against hers.  He bit her with love, nibbling on her bottom lip.  He nibbled her neck.  He nibbled her fingers.  She was his meal, a meal so good he could never wait to say grace. He sent shudders down her spine as her mouth draped open and silent selahs snuck away to a heaven for two.

Her fingers ran across the fabrics hanging in her closet, reaching for the red dress trimmed in small golden pyramids. One by one, her feet slid into golden heels with a sandal front. She was comfortable, and he was there again.  A crash upon the floor, and her dress a puddle of waves beneath her.  Their bodies slammed together.  His hands wild about her tenderness, her lips kissing his temple, her legs spread, his lips parted, tongue circling a soaked sensitivity.  His pressure caused a leak in her as his power pulsated inside her, in and out.  He felt her encircling him, her need, her eagerness, running down his manhood.  He turned her over pulling her hair.  He wanted to dominate her, and she knew it, but she did not mind. She threw her Earth to him.  She felt the Sun.  She found herself on top of him, raining down on him like the saving drops that nestled themselves in dry land.  He panted. He contorted. She continued. He came. She screamed and did the same.  They were together, tangled in one-another’s satisfaction.

She thought of red and gold, turning to ask him his opinion and, there she stood, alone. Her dress crumpled at her ankles, and the sun peaking in on her nude body.

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