Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

it isn't always, but sometimes, that she comes to me, alive, electric.
her short cut hair bristles across my cheek,
the recent cigarette smell of her breath lies along my nostrils
her hard-bodied presence tangles in my arms.
my hands reach for the small of her back, the warmth of her neck,
and come away, instead, with first-fulls of shadows, memories.
her black dog is dead in my head -
there is no room in fond remembrance for negativity.

--

i'm looking forward to that Neruda day when i can say "though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her."

'cigarette smell of her breath'...

That's refreshingly honest.
Sometimes I think we don't get enough honesty.

mnaz wrote:'cigarette smell of her breath'...

That's refreshingly honest.
Sometimes I think we don't get enough honesty.

how about, "her pussy was a little pissy."
?

well, depending on context, that could be refreshingly honest too!

little prissy missy
her pussy was a little pissy