Poetry:

Emotions embroiled

Words are said

Never to be unspoken.

Why can you not ever see

In the moment

Empathy and love

Outweigh the need

To be right.

Think

The thoughts

Of under the surface.

A competition never to be won.

Whatever happened to love

that understands

Emotions. Faults. Failures.

Conquer all.

⎯⎯⎯⎯✶⎯⎯⎯⎯

Fractured

A small crack that starts so meager

You can not even see it

It appears as part of a picture

Move. Slowly Moves … and is

Pushed over the edge

Until

Finally it breaks.

Shattered.

Misunderstanding.

Increasing volume.

Myriad of words spoken.

Hurled, thrown. Loud.

Enough to stick to the broken pieces

Forever ingrained in the fractured cracks of

Beauty.

 

 

 

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I wrote this little scene and published it four years ago, today (24/2/2011) At the time it was written as a fan fiction, however it never identified the characters throughout the writing. I thought it would be fun to pop it here….. you know..just because even after all these years… I love boys with guitars!!!

Strumming Me Softly

The hot water of the shower is beating on my back as I face towards the white tiles. My eyes are closed, enjoying the sensation of the water relaxing my muscles, and tired from tending to the children all day.

I turn as I hear the bathroom door open; a gust of cold air hits my skin. I shiver with anticipation and the feeling of the temperature dropping in the small space.

Smiling, he steps into the shower. I open my arms to invite him under the spray and into my personal space. He moves easily into them and reaches around to surround me in him.

Together we stand, silently enjoying the water and the soothing effect it has on both of us.

Reaching above, he adjusts the shower head to spray towards the shower tiles. I raise my eyebrows curiously and he smirks at me as his face descends to mine.

Our lips meet, and in that slow passionate kiss he reminds me why I married him.

Gently guiding me, my back hits the wall; the tiles that are usually cold are now warmed by the spray of the shower. His mouth, still tangling with mine makes my knees give out slightly.

He bends down and helps me up—supports me in ways that always make him mine.

I reach around him and grab the loufah and pump some body wash onto it. As I run my hands up and down his body, his head falls back with a moan, his sandy golden hair dripping water down his back. I smile; I love making him feel good like this.

He looks me in the eye, his brown gaze piercing into mine, and smiles at me before attacking my neck with wet kisses. Slurping noises combine with the water falling on the tiles, the splashes; the moans.

His hand moves down my arm and he places it at the apex of my curls, while running the other up and down my side. Now it’s my turn to moan.

My head hits the tiles and my arms fall to my side. The loufah drops to the ground with a soft splash as cleaning each other is long forgotten.

Moving his hands he plays me like a guitar, strumming and plucking in a delicate manner, with just enough pressure to push me to the edge. My body writhes against him and I’m just about to explode when he once again attacks my lips, slipping his tongue in my mouth. Our tongues dance as I moan through my pleasure.

My body is limp, warm, and I feel wonderful. The stars start to fade from my vision, as I slide down the tiles and bring myself to him. He is ready. I place my hands on his bottom and bring him closer, as he stretches his arms and braces against the wall. Taking him in my mouth, I become the musician, playing an instrument.

The small sounds that escape his lips mix with the water, encouraging me to continue. His legs start to shake and I know he is close. One more swirl of my tongue and he explodes with his own pleasure.

I rise to meet him again. We move under the stream of the water and the warm liquid runs over our bodies as we hold each other. He pumps some soap into his hand and proceeds to run them all over my sensitive body to clean me.

Getting out of the shower first I watch him dry himself, a small, content smile playing on my face as the water spills over my long brown tresses.

He opens the shower door again and turns off the water. He is holding out a towel. I step into his arms and he wraps me up in the warmth. I stand there in his embrace, happy, sated and forever in love.

This is the man I married; this is the man who gave me our children; and this is the man, who even after all these years, does not needs words to make me feel beautiful.

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