Wednesday, February 8, 2012

o36

“I remember the March snowflakes, 'ere the sun woke, and the damp seeped into all. I recall your body, the snow, bloated, wet would seep from your hair and drip off your chin, run rivers over your clavicle to the well of your chest.
"A snowflake lay heavy on your breast, my thumb would smush it, ride the circumference of your nipple 'til my lips drank the sweet nectar.
"We forgot the day and the frigid fall of the eve, when the vapors on the grass turned to icicles that sliced our bodies into naked cubes of jelly.”

3 comments:

  1. ok, this is gorgeous.

    " the snow, bloated, wet would seep from your hair and drip off your chin, run rivers over your clavicle to the well of your chest." the whole damned thing is gorgeous. a sweet glance into such an intimate moment. this writing suits you, tom. and your photo is remarkable.

    xo
    erin

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    Replies
    1. thanks erin, and i'm so happy you found buttercup festival...it's so fantastically real,
      t

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  2. I was enjoying this - until the last para'! Fine work, though.

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