Sunlight fell upon her through a yawning window.
She lay, shirt open, across our fraying couch.
The afternoon outlined her face, her chest, the curve at her hip.
She watched me, winding a strand of sandy hair around a slender finger.
I rummaged in my usual way.
Muttering about lost ideas, pulling open desk draws,
Shuffling paper.
Closing again only to return and repeat moments later,
My search unfulfilled.
She sighed,
‘You’re fucking hopeless.’
Was I ignoring her?
I had something I needed to capture. A moment, an image, something fleeting.
I could save it if I could just find…
I sat on the floor papers strewn around me.
Pen in hand I shuffled and marked.
Slowly she raised herself like a crane taking flight.
She came to my back, floating silently.
Running her hand gently across my shoulder.
The old biro was running dry, I scribbled furiously,
Trying to get a heartbeat from its single artery.
She sighed again.
Placing her arms around my neck he lowered herself onto me.
Her thighs outside mine, her chin resting gently on my head.
The few small freckles in the centre of her chest filled my view.
I kissed her gently. She tasted of the sea.
Her fingers wrapped around mine and I gave up the pen.
It tumbled from my hand like a log over a waterfall.
She guided my hand to her and rolled her hips against me.
I felt her heartbeat through my lips.
She pulsed with me.
The idea I had was fading.
The vision failing.
The jigsaw dismantling itself before me,
Pieces jumbling, falling to the floor.
With a slow breath,
I let it go.

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Comments

2 Comments

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  1. Hap #
    March 1, 2013

    I enjoyed the visualization, it really “took me there” like good writing does. The “I’m fucking hopeless” sentiment touches home. Shit, the world seems hopeless so why should I be any different?

    • March 1, 2013

      Thanks man. I’ll admit to being hopeless by most modern measures anyway.

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