In that clearing we sit and we wait.
My body is laid out for all to see with my head sitting in your lap as you sit indian style. Stark naked, our skin compliments each other's. My slightly tanner to your longer leaner frame. My hair is a dark momento of notice across your pale thighs as your long fingers grace the contours of my face as you stroke the curve of my cheekbones and hollow of my eyes, over and over and over and over again. The trees cast shadows but we're not in deep enough so the rays are creating rainbows of the polish on my hands as they rest at my sides. My eyes are closed but every so often, I open them to the shock of sun just so I can take stock of the surroundings, of the facts. Every time I do the circle of dark men that rings us raises their guns and mentally prepares themselves for pulling the trigger, only I never leave my eyes open long enough for them to take perfect aim on me, on you.
I reach my hand up and feel the line of your jaw, the stubble of forgotten facial hair. My hand reaches upwards, brushing your cheek.
You have the softest skin, like touching a butterfly.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
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