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Sense of Touch
Moist air flew through the open window in his bedroom, drizzling in from a gray sky that was daring to rain. As she lay napping at his side he slowly ran his fingers through her soft, short, citrussy smelling hair, marveling at the texture so soft, and the color (a near perfect shade of red-brown).
He especially loved the feel of the edge of her
white forehead meeting that hair. With great care he lifted her hand
one after the other to meet his cold lips where he placed a clumsy
and naive kiss on her pretty fishlike fingers.
Sense of Smell
In the passenger seat of his car my nose reveled in the soft mixture of our scents. I could pick out my own violet oil perfume from my wrist and neck, shower fresh deodorant and, surf laundry detergent, his spicy male deodorant and a soft sweat smell of wet clothes, skin and hair. Totally warranted by the fact that he was a rock star who had just finished a concerts.
"I smell huh?"
"No. I mean yes, but not bad. It's a good smell."
"I swear. See, I'll prove it." I slowly lowered my head and sniffed the intimate warmth of his arm pit. My heart fluttered with girlish excitement.
"Beautiful, you smell manly."
Sense of Form
road trips, full of
you and me, alone
in a car, going
100 miles an hour.
like a bullet
to orange county.
with nervous glances
unsure seat posture
palms and a slow
"who turned off the night sky?"
on the way there i forgot to notice just when the stars stopped watching. . .into a night sky we go unarmed. crazy, i told myself to listen to the voices from their eyes but i got tired and you got sad and we all went on our way, to the east into a cold blue night sky, fragmented only by radioed messages from home. when will you get there? how long will it take? your mom misses you. . . please write soon.
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