Detouring Writers Roadblock

Considering we previously offered animals and nature, I thought I'd expand our writing options toward a bit spicier September initiative. I can't wait to see Jenny's choice for October and Jasmin's for November. December's photo has already been selected and is breathtaking to point it will no doubt produce some really wonderful results! I look forward to discovering new creativity in response to what this particular photo inspires! Remember it does not have to be in poetry form. The deadline for entries is 1 Sept, 2011. Send your freestyle contributions to SaffronsMoonbeam@aol.com any time between now and then. Have fun everyone! :)


When Your Lover has Gone

I cooked for her and waited for her to come home. I busied myself, basting and seasoning, steaming vegetables. I opened a bottle of chilled Sauvignon, her favourite, and left it open in the ‘fridge. Two glasses were placed on the table next to our place settings. It had to be perfect.

I showered and changed. It’s all in the detail, isn’t it? Which earrings, which underwear, which necklace? Of course I chose the silver. Silver is her metal, warm and soft. I dried and brushed my hair, imagining her holding the brush, her stroking me.

Her key clicked in the lock and I went to meet her, kissed her, embraced her. We nuzzled then she went upstairs and I listened to the shower, to her movements. I poured the wine and waited for her. She came down smelling clean and looking warm from the shower, the grime of the city gone from her. We kissed again.

But it was there, in the corner, that suitcase. The suitcase I hated. I hated it more than anything.

We ate, we drank and we chatted and she could sense the sadness in me. She touched me, praised my cooking, praised my clothes. We left the table and moved to the sitting room. With her long cool fingers she slowly undressed me. Her body, naked now against mine, moved and caressed me. Our mouths played together, our hands roamed freely and increasingly wantonly. Our every move was charged. She lay upon the chaise and opened herself to me as I knelt on the floor. Her cry was muted, subtle but I knew it came from my mouth as well as hers. We lay there, side by side, our legs entwined and we worked our hips until my cry came from her.

I lay on that chaise and watched her dress, collect her suitcase, blow me a kiss from the door and as it closed behind her, I cried.

by Monica - 26 Aug 2011