One place you cannot Lie

Writing this week has purposely been dark; this was on the semi brighter and gives a partial view of what much of this work deals with.

I knew her skin better than my own. The first hint always shook down my spine. Heavenly heavily sweet on top but underneath a kind of resonating earthiness, like crushed leaves and warm summer and the spray of crashing waves on the beach all rolled into one. It was exhilarating and inebriating. That little scar along her temple from being a klutzy kid, the mark just below her elbow from scratching a scrap too long. The way her hair waved lightly near her neck, how it’d spread out along the sheets as we slept. The way her brow would crinkle when she focused, how she’d always arch her back a bit when touched. I’d forget that I was. Her half crooked smile when pulled close, tilting her head towards me instead of asking what or why. There was only us. It was some kind of hauntingly beautiful dance we did that wasn’t between us. Both of us, both at the same time, dancing the same dance, dancing within. That is what I won’t forget, what I can’t forget.