Theatre
July 29, 2009
In her head he was an obsession, a dark play-thing wrapped in glittered silk with a diamond bow.
Her hands racing through the pages of her open diary.
His name.
Taste.
Her stockings lost, rolled to far down.
Skirt pulled up around her waist.
His face.
Smell.
His tongue dancing across her thighs.
Her mouth wrapped around his cock.
Silky.
Delicate.
Lovers now lost.
Fantasy behind drawn back curtains.
© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe
September 2, 2009 at 3:42 am
A diary that records stimuli felt by all of the senses . . . so much more vivid than words alone.
October 7, 2009 at 4:56 pm
Oh, I’ve missed you. Please write more…