just priscilla (yourmooseyfate) wrote in anorgyofvowels,
just priscilla


first: welcome to dream_eater and jai! you both posted great stuff and i'm sorry i didn't get a chance to comment on it. i'll probably go back and do that later. i hope you guys don't hate it here, because really gemmah and i are the only ones who haven't died, i think. hook more people in, it will be a definite improvement.
fragmented ideas and too many pronouns
i know, i quote taking back sunday like my life depends on it. but the above is really the best way to describe what follows. bear with me.

i like my body when it is with your
body. it is so quite a new thing.
muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smoothness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh...and eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new

-e.e. cummings, 'i like my body when it is with your'

he follows one pale, crinkled line down the length of her stomach, tracing its loop around her belly button, continuing until the stripey flesh fades to one smooth, even colour. his fingertip dances circles over her skin; the white streaks gleam against the backdrop of brown and she is coffee laced with swirling wisps of cream. he lowers his face to feel the warmth rising off of her and, as his fingers stroke the fascinating zebra skin that floats like a series of ripples around her navel, she rolls her head to the side and averts her eyes. a single bright light has plastered their shadows on the wall; a smile replaces her shame at the sight of their tangled silhouettes. with her eyes half-closed, lazily, she enjoys this: the sight of their shadow-selves joined at the hip, the gentle stroke of his fingers over her skin, the days they have spent caught up in one another, melting into a shared life of unmade beds, closed curtains, varying stages of undress, and mutant shadow puppets. this is home, as they have made it for themselves, reaching with inexperienced hands deep into hard earth, wedging themselves tightly into the cracks of the sidewalk, a space just for them. this is home, where they, jammed tightly against one another, with knees and toes and foreheads kissing, have squeezed into with a stubborn and persistent contentment.
-the temporary end-
i started it two nights ago and it was the first piece of writing in awhile that has kept me from schoolwork and eating and sleeping and other frivolities. it's not finished, and even those few lines have been chewed on and sucked on and torn up and pieced back together at least a lot of times. but that's the for now, and maybe i'll have some for later.

i will continue to decorate my daily conversations with taking back sunday lyrics, yes.
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