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Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Your room is bathed
in gold light.
The effect of
bronze curtains.
It smells like you.
It’s cluttered with clothes
and knickknacks.
The smell of coffee drifts
from the shop below
and through the open
window muffled speech
floats.
Still, it is unbearably quiet.
I can hear your breath
and the turquoise sheets rustle like
dry leaves as I sit up
-examining the damage-
A bruise on my arm,
you must have grabbed me
at some point.
A burn on my throat.
Finger prints mar my ass.
I can feel my body.
A fucking miracle.
Your sleeping face is
unnervingly peaceful.
You show no guilt,
though I doubt I’d
be able to tell.
Your hair is a mess,
standing every which way.
Your muscles draw my eyes,
I feel an itch in my fingers.
Paper and pencil are
got, without waking you.
I trace the lines
and forms.
Your lips even seem
to smile, secretly.
Lights flash in my eyes,
sparkling gems falling
from the ceiling fan-
fading out. I ignore them.
In my concentration
I’m startled, pen jutting across the page,
ruining the shading of your forearm.
-What are you doing?-
A hand on my wrist,
though soft, like your voice.
-I’m sorry- Why can I only whisper?
You lean up, glance at yourself
on the paper then set it aside, so gently.
Pulling me down with you.
The pillows -huff- as our heads sink
and your arms are so sweet now.
Tap, tap.
On my temple,
a kiss.
-Don’t leave just yet-
with a request my
wandering mind settles
like this body
into you.
in gold light.
The effect of
bronze curtains.
It smells like you.
It’s cluttered with clothes
and knickknacks.
The smell of coffee drifts
from the shop below
and through the open
window muffled speech
floats.
Still, it is unbearably quiet.
I can hear your breath
and the turquoise sheets rustle like
dry leaves as I sit up
-examining the damage-
A bruise on my arm,
you must have grabbed me
at some point.
A burn on my throat.
Finger prints mar my ass.
I can feel my body.
A fucking miracle.
Your sleeping face is
unnervingly peaceful.
You show no guilt,
though I doubt I’d
be able to tell.
Your hair is a mess,
standing every which way.
Your muscles draw my eyes,
I feel an itch in my fingers.
Paper and pencil are
got, without waking you.
I trace the lines
and forms.
Your lips even seem
to smile, secretly.
Lights flash in my eyes,
sparkling gems falling
from the ceiling fan-
fading out. I ignore them.
In my concentration
I’m startled, pen jutting across the page,
ruining the shading of your forearm.
-What are you doing?-
A hand on my wrist,
though soft, like your voice.
-I’m sorry- Why can I only whisper?
You lean up, glance at yourself
on the paper then set it aside, so gently.
Pulling me down with you.
The pillows -huff- as our heads sink
and your arms are so sweet now.
Tap, tap.
On my temple,
a kiss.
-Don’t leave just yet-
with a request my
wandering mind settles
like this body
into you.
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