Wednesday, 25 April 2012

Ninety-One Skipped Beats

Ninety-one beautiful and unbelievably perfect days. Ninety-one nights of broken sleep and ninety-one mornings of groggy grins. Ninety-one times, I've lost control of my lungs. Ninety-one skipped beats. Ninety-one blushes that crept upon my face. Ninety-one times my eyes avoided yours. Ninety-one songs sung off-key. Ninety-one fierce embraces. Ninety-one ridiculous laughs. Ninety-one whispered conversations and a thousand kisses later, here we are. I want you to know that you mean the world to me.

Sunday, 22 April 2012

Lipstick


He checked his watch for the fourth time, and clicked his tongue impatiently. He fidgeted with the car keys, sighed loudly, and called out her name again.


"Can you come up here for a second? I need your help with this," her voice floated over to him. Muttering under his breath, he ran up the stairs and threw open the bedroom door, ready to make an angry remark, but stopped short at the sight of her.


She sat on the dresser, leaning back on her hands, legs crossed seductively and sticking her chest out. Clad only in black underwear and a pair of four-inch stilettos, she tossed back her chocolate curls as her dark crimson lips formed an alluring smile.


She stretched out an arms and switched off the lamp. The only illumination left was the moonlight that filtered in through the lace curtains. Gracefully, she slid off the dresser and began to strut towards him, slipping out of her underwear as she drew closer. The silver light touched upon every contour of her body, the shadows playing with her luxuriant curves.


He gazed at her in awe, suddenly aware of his tall erection. He ached to hold her, to explore her. He reached for her waist, but before he could, she dropped to her knees and undid his belt. Her fingers were cold on his abdomen, and he exhaled loudly.


She pulled his pants down to his knees and left a dark lipstick stain on his thigh. She drew back her head and looked up at him, "We're going to be a bit late for the dinner," she whispered.


Too breathless to speak, he nodded his head, swallowed hard and mouthed, "Okay."

Tuesday, 10 April 2012

The Futility of Language

If only there was a way to make you understand the beauty in all that you are. The joy your existence throws to me is infinite. Words fail me; I try to tell you what it is you mean to me, but all I can do is curse at the futility of language. I can only try, and even though I know that there is no way to successfully convey to you all that is within me, I will continue to try. Every single day, I will try to explain to you that you are incredible in every way.


Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
-William Butler Yeats