Lie still, sleep becalmed, thoughts all wrapped safe and tucked up tidy. Shush, Shush, don’t you dare wake up now.
   “Trying to invade my sleep, old man?”
I imagine you blanketed, cosywarm and soft against the ill wind that blows this bleak Wolfemonath day. I am playing with words, experimenting with effect, inspired by you. You are so deft verbally, oft turning my emotions on a three word phrase.
    “I’m laid bare.”
Case in point. How are you, all those endless miles away?
    “Curled up on the couch. Blanketed. Asleep :-)”
Perfect. Let me then adverb your hip, trail adjectives between your breasts, open your thighs with my nouns. Eyes closed, yet aware, feel my words caress the rise and fall of your skin. Sentences lick. Phrases nibble.

About wombat37

A Yorkshireman in the green hills of Lancashire, UK Not a real wombat, obviously, or typing would become an issue. I do have short legs and a hairy nose, however. Oh, & a distinctive smell.

Posted on January 4, 2015, in fiction, Short story, story, Twitter. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. Crushingly beautiful.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: