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505 AM


The soft curve of the waist, the smooth silky skin. Small dimples on the lower back, and perfect hand hold. The cascading waves of honey, reflecting the golden rays of light. Pools of water watching my every move, sending messages without sound.

part one
   The click of my entrance, placing the thin plastic card on the table I smile as I see her, the way her body perfecting fits in mine, a kiss of her soft lips. The bed, unmade, has littered with drawings and articles, a personal project of hers. She leaves momentarily as I gaze upon a sketch, I take it.
   The window on the fifth floor offers a spectacular view of the city, the bustling people among yellow cabs like ants making their rounds. I can smell her perfume now, I know she has slipped on the red dress I bought her as a gift, for coming to see me, I momentarily close my eyes, I can see the way her body bends and shifts, fitting perfectly, like she does on me.
   ‘Ready?’ calls her voice, seductive yet soft, the perfect mix. I spin on my heel, meeting her eyes, what does she expect when she looks at me like that?

   She was angry at me, I adore her yet. I didn’t understand, she is disappointed in me, I guess I ‘fall short of the mark’. Yells echoed off the old brick walls of the alley, back and forth, just like last time, the screams are ‘no harsher’ than the bite. I wished we could just continue our ‘adventure’.

part two
   The wall is blank, hollow, like me. She is always here with me, on my mind, consuming my thoughts. ‘I’d probably still adore her with her hands around my neck’ or I think I would last time I checked. Life is repetitive and boring now, filled with nothing but melancholy. Visions of those three numbers, the sound of an electric lock.
   The number of times I have looked at the ‘seven-hour flight’ to her, and the drive that would finish the journey, I yearn for it. My imaginations of her waiting for me, with ‘her hands between her thighs’ but I can’t think that way! That’s the reason she left, she said I didn’t appreciate her, the real her. I pull the scribbled, crumpled sketch from my pocket, fittingly a drawing of hands.
   When she left I let her, ‘I crumble when she cries’, the pain I give her given back to me on a silver platter of my own making..

part three
   Once again, she ‘greets me with goodbye’, the time taken away from you and I pains you, and what hurts you kills me. You told me goodbye, I caused this, pushing her away in hopes that she would leave. I found another, but in the process, I hurt you, a painful memory to me.
   I had to see you, only a ‘forty-five minute drive’ left until I see you, the city left behind for the sun.  I promise you I will see you, respect you…maybe.

I see you now, ‘waiting on your side with your hands between your thighs and a smile.’


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