She gives me a sidewise glance and a pout of her pinkish reddish lips as she slides on a pair of black tights. I like it when she wears black tights. Makes my vision go all blurry and my mouth run dry. She’s got pale, plasticine flesh, and a kiss that tastes of pine needles mixed with orange flavoured Lucozade. Looking at me, she flicks some hair behind her ear. She’s got blushed cheeks and a small button nose glowing pink in the cold. The window’s open, and the breeze coming through it gives us both goosebumps but there’s nothing like a chill morning to stir you from a funk. There’s a donut in her hand, taken from her secret stash she keeps by the side of the bed. Then it’s in her mouth before filling up her belly making her giggle and shake like she just can’t take it anymore. Sticking out her tongue, she eyes me up, and I lean in close and grab hold of it between my thumb and forefinger. Checking to see if she’s swallowed all the sugar, I let go and then hold her chin. There are no words. There doesn’t have to be. This thing we have, it goes deeper than skin. What excites on the surface is good enough, and I won’t complain about the kicks it’s given me, and yet it’s what’s inside that takes us to a heavenly state. Flesh is flesh, but if you’re chasing a vision like you say you are, it’s the lights that shine behind the eyes you should be looking for, not this cage of flesh that merely rots the older you get.
A Journal for Damned Lovers UK
Author S. K. Nicholas 
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