I carry his voice on my skin.
Earlier, between a bath and the moon, my breasts perked to his voice. “I’m yours.”
I left the tub, entered the bedroom. “Were you talking?”
“No,” he smiled, “just typing.”
I walked away, wondering if his fingers had spoken this lingering “Maybe…” stroking the small of my back.
the wee notes…
– I shared 2 paintings with friends on Facebook, and asked them which one they wanted me to write very short tales about. They chose the lady below, suggesting that there is something about her expression that made them (and me) want to know more about her.
– I will (very likely) shared a 55-word story every Thursday. I want to make this series of tales as interactive (and fun) as possible. So… you, my Wicked Luvs, get to choose 1 of 3 possible paths: 1) The voice she feels on her skin is produced by his thoughts/feelings. 2) She is imagining the voice. 3) The voice belongs to a character we’ve yet to meet.
– Written for Hedgewitch’s Friday 55.
Nude, by Shelle Kennedy