She lets go of hundreds of thoughts simultaneously as he whispers. He seduces her as the wind, without words. Combing through every strand of her body, the fibers of her being yearn to slip off her like a silk nightgown to the floor. Without conscious thought, just the rhythmic universality of this dance with the passing stranger. Until she is bare. Her body still on the cold, hard ground. Dreaming of the fall.
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Nicholas James WebbMy words are water. Archives
January 2018
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