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This Is Sacred |
"Questions that have answers are dead," she said to me unbuttoning her cuff, nonchalant as the last swoop of a flock gathering coherence before it leaves the powerline as one agglomerate entity. I sat and stood there grinning, my gaze running awry, now leaping to her ear where a freaky clique of strands had twisted forward, wrapping themselves around the tiny cleft between lobe and jaw and then dangling there swaying in the inertia as though to play at being jewelry, to the sound of shifting fabric as a vapor flash of half-tightened aureola crossed the terminator and jolted my diaphragm and gently chided my tongue that it was time for a bath, then up to her right eye on a wave of occipital squeezing swallow reflex marking a face beaming with laughter, the skin of her cheek relaxing into butterfly kisses of attention as my pupils opened wide, wider, wide enough to take her in all in all the way in... "Clunk," two belt buckles calmly address the floor. She holds me at arm's length and pouts, "Well, aren't you going to ask me how?" So I kiss her and she kills my question too. |