the shade and the fire draped about my throat
like so many jewels.
I met the mist as an old lover,
let the dew paint my lips
with the scent of harvest.
In a white memory, you are still walking away,
down that same road.
Your hair was shining like the fall.
Your shape in the fog beckons;
ghost or vision, I care not.
I lose myself.
while soft hands explore
for whats in store
A trail of kisses
Down the small of my back
My body reacts.
A brush of fingertips
Gently trace every outline
With love undefined
Heartbeats accelerate together
Racing at new speeds
Bodies embracing one another
A sharing of heart and soul
Making me whole
Sensuality ignited by every touch
Bonding through love and lust
An exchange of trust
Minds losing innocence
Trusting and loving the best we can
For who I am.
Embraces of more than flesh
in our romantic pantomime
this is to me
Making love for the first time
Your sister kept goldfish once. They didn't last long, didn't linger enough to become attached to your soul. Fish were fickle things. They never seemed driven to survive, content to float into oblivion if the water wasn't just right. They lived for simple things, and simple things went foul quickly. One goldfish nibbled at fish flake, morning after morning, until the day it decided t
Brought to you by Super Editor
You've probably all read books or seen movies in which a character passes out. The heroine might swoon gracefully and collapse onto the floor or into the hero's arms. People rush to bring water, a doctor, or something to revive her. She then wakes up, rosy-cheeked and a bit distressed, and she fans herself for a while while insisting that she is fine.
Fainting in real life is not nearly so beautiful. Authors, especially ones with no experience, can sometimes fall for such idealized descriptions. I am (un)fortunate enough to have experience in this area, so I will share it here.
Quick Losses of Consciousness
Usually this involves an impact or a sudden pain. The character may have no idea what happened to him or her afterwards, and later results vary depending on the severity of any injuries sustained.
Real-life example: My mom used to work as a waitress during her teenage years, and Aunt Jennifer, her
"Oh, g-god! I'm sorry!" Mark uttered feeling flustered and rushed to pick his books up. Rolling his eyes, Jack dropped to the ground and helped, avoiding the same books that Mark was touching. He was sure his heart would stop if they both picked the same one and the situation become even more cheesy.
"I'm n-normally more careful, I'm sorry, Jack." Mark apologised awkwardly. Come on Mark, ask him out! It's the perfect opportunity! Shaking his head to himself, Mark stood up with a full pile of books in his hands.
"It's fine, don't worry about it." Jack assured him, putting a hand to the back of his neck. "Hey um, I was wondering..." he started, hesitating. Should he really try and hang out with popular nerd? Sure he was cute and adorable and his hair was gorgeous and his muscles... "Don't get me started on his muscles..." Jack muttered to himself, glancing up at Mark to make sure he hadn't heard. Now what sh
I'm writing to tell you I'm dropping out of college; I haven't told anyone. I'm twitching, Michael. The hunger came back a few weeks ago, and I'm not sure it ever left. Regardless, it's crying now, and I need to go. I need to keep moving on. I'm leaving for Chicago tomorrow. My train takes off in the afternoon, and when I get there, I'll leave again. I want to go somewhere new, Michael.
I want to go somewhere I have never seen before.
Now, I know you have to be worried, but don't, Brother. Don't you be afraid. I'll write to you wherever I go. I won't leave a return address, please don't try to follow me. You can't, Michael, you're too smart. Your place is here among these people; and mine is out there. You're meant for your books; I'm meant for my trees. I want to roar from the woods with a pen mightier than He
He squirmed in her grip, face growing redder with every passing moment that her chest rubbed against him. Prying himself free, he looked around the lunch room, making sure that all the other students were busy before quietly glaring at the girl. "I am not your sister," he announced, self-consciously combing a bit of hair out of his eyes. He glared at her to make his point, annoyed that she had pointed out his feminine looks, only to let it slide into a stare when he found her pouting.
"Um are you all right?" he asked, fidgeting a little as her lip trembled.
He shifted from foot to foot as he watched the girl cry, tears running silently down her cheeks as she whispered a petulant "No." She glared at him a little, poking her finger into his chest, makin
blankets of peace falling
with a freshness that lacks innocence.
Nearly forgotten, they're here as expected,
clearing the streets,
trying to push aside all the worry
that makes things unsafe, but
the steel mouth askew grates against my heart;
its thick bass scrape pushing more than piles of white aside,
it pushes my blood aside too,
piling it up in the corner of this pumping vessel that falters,
ice-caked and bitten, stiffened,
and keeps faltering,
until the air is silent
and the street no longer shivers in torture.
The only evidence is the blanket of white
that keeps falling,
like fluffy stuffing that's been yanked out.
All is silent,
except the fond memories that peel away
from my heart in little shreds,
and the plows, scraping fresh wounds again.
Copyright © 2012 Jen Fowler
All Rights Reserved
And eagles, turning, turn to fire
Ash cold, alone I lie
And think of you.