Her eyes stung like deep salt water pools, that sank to the depths of an empty pit where her heart used to burn with fiery lust. Now the fire is long gone out, she is cold to the touch.
Her words are calm and deliberate, clearly she can not be ruffled, she cares not. Laughter out of mockery, elite pleasure from snobbery and flagrant wasting time endlessly.
Shades of brown surround her, mud, lifeless crabgrass, rotten oak leaves and her drab black dress tell a harsh winter story.
He turns to her and smiles, he shines with radiance. His smile is bright and rare. Her body starts to shake, her face burns hot, her belly flips and twists and knots. She has to remember to breathe. He is her flame, he is her imagination, so real she feels his touch. Gently for she is scared, tenderly he awakens her from sluggish winter days. He removes the layers, layer after layer. She is vulnerable and bare, he holds her, protects her, he is her master and her servant. Her head now flung back, he has ignited her fire, her eyes sparkle wildly, he pushes her thigh hard with his knee, she needs to feel all his strength, tears fall down her cheeks, he kisses her face frantically, it's okay, she's okay, she is just feeling, feeling something real, feeling something passionate.
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