Author S. K. Nicholas

Outside of time. Floating through cold, empty streets. Trapdoors. Changing hearts and a raging war. The war of my insides. Boredom snuffed me out. It rendered me numb, somewhat dumb. Looking up at distant suns, we laid there in a garden so green, bathed in truthful moonlight. Meteor showers, scuttling spiders so fragile and quick. Haunted phantoms. Demons. Sexual desire, laid bare upon her bed. Glasses of cold water, left out for days. Warm now, summer afternoons so bright. Books and photos. Childhood smiles, stillness everlasting. Framed with nothing but love. The distant longing, of symbols kept quiet. All those things, kept far away from harsh light.

Give me a whiskey, and the handprint of a lover. Posing, she pouts before a mirror in a bright new room. Pretty and refined, I imagine my hands moving around her breasts. That sense of fresh adventure. Of new secrets, just waiting to be tasted. Lights flicker in my eyes. Cigarette smoke, blown into her mouth. Golden hush. Plump lips and hips. The maze of my mind. Midnight horrors in the bathroom. Dreams, fluttering inside her belly. In her navel, my words lack meaning. The nightmare of history, of all those passages, so difficult to trace. Get back. Go to where you truly belong. Not here. Not anywhere. Somewhere, where freedom is born on the mouths of passionate kisses. 42. 27. Danger. Lilac white. Fingers making patterns, subdued and absent.