black skirt

its been a long night. along few months. she pauses for a second just past the door way. her chin runs to her left sholder and her hair falls over her face. her legs stopped mid step, in heels her right toe barley kissing the wood on the floor. her face cringes togeather as she sniffles the air in though her noise, all holding back a single tear, that she never let fall... a black skirt and matching jacket. a clutch bag and two rings, she regains composer and presses on. her heels pounding the ground louder with every step. 

rising through the room like bubbles in champagne

a motion over whelming, sentient in its desire for perfection through rhythm, we are mealy the canvas carefully placed so this fluidity can take shape and flow like waves through us. willing host to a most gracious storm fixated on satisfying. the room is filled with steam and smoke, the curtains back light and tinted blue. your skin sliding over my hips, the feeling of your shins on the back of my heels, your hair in the inside of my arms and falling loosely, wildly to my fingers. your chest brushes mine as we rise then crest and repeat, each moment, each slip greater then the last, my check touches yours, flushed and most, our lips meet and continue moving, pulsating, as if separate from the rest of our bodies, and yet we are only one, every inch of us only one. still moving, still sliding, we kiss until we need to breathe, then we kiss until we are breathing each other in stead of air.