Blog, Love, Personal Blog, Poetry, Relationships, Romance

Love Hides in Quiet Places – Part 2

All this pleasure!

Oh, how every sense is ignited and flushed with pleasure. Satin sheets slip against wet skin. Bodies rise and fall to the rhythm of tantalizing bass lines. Shadows dance against the wall as candle light flickers wildly in the darkness. The aroma of diffused oils and scented candles permeate the air—inhaled between breathless sighs and whispers. Moans and grunts muffle the music playing in the background—a soundtrack driving the mood—melodies pulling us forward, shoving us deeper and deeper into each other. Flowers sit by the bedside, decaying in the presence of hope and lust and unspoken agreements, soon to be broken. Flowers sit idly by the bedside, shifting closer and closer to the edge of the nightstand as the bed rocks and knocks against it. The vase falls and comes crashing down; but the sound, muffled by stained carpeting, goes unheard.

“This feels good.”

Skin on skin, lips pressed against lips, legs entangled, and fingers entwined–hip swaying, heart racing, toe curling pleasure.

“This feels good.”

And oh, the tastes—the taste of ME, rolling around on your tongue and sticking to the roof of your mouth; and the taste of YOU swirling its way down my throat—oh, how good we taste! The flavors of US overwhelm the taste of wine and melted candy and fruit and fear.
Yes, the fear, pervading unseen gaps. The fear, grey like pus, congealing and filling all the empty spaces, weighing us down, down, down.

Pulling us way down.

And now we’re drowning, drowning in us; drowning in the stale scent of old sex and dried sweat and broken promises never uttered.

But love, love sits quietly in the corners of the room and the crevices of our bodies and the cracks on the wall. Love sits quietly, hiding in dark places where it blooms. It sits, waiting in electric sockets and floor gaps. It rests between my breasts and in the space between our interlocked fingers. It sneaks its way from its hiding places and seals the wounds. In the dark of night, as we slumber, embracing as we sleep, love emerges. It whispers its tale in our ears and weaves its story in our dreams.

© 2015 Tamara Kellam

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