Post by Kit on Mar 7, 2010 16:45:32 GMT 10
Title: Sparks
Rating: PG-13
Length: 213
Round: 2/D
Competitor: Alanna
Summary: A sleep-deprived reflective piece of nonsense, in a very odd writing style. Still, Kel and Alanna kiss. Can be read with Leavetakings
A great deal you can say, and not say, in a kiss. You do not have to say anything, which is—surely—part of the joy. Simple, easy sweetness, pressure and release, tiny differences in breath and taste and scent and strength playing across your mind but only registering brief, present bursts—do this, yes. Good, even better if I turn my head, move my hand, trap her lip in mine, swallow...mmph. More teeth? Yes? No...no, this is better. God! I hope she does that again. Even these words, simple enough, give too much weight to it. And you might tell me there is meaning, in all of this Not Meaning, and I might just believe you.
Then there is the other kiss. The need—to say, to do, to touch/steal/give/love/hate/laugh/cry/hold-and-linger/end. The action in it, poorly framed by grammar or letter-shape. The action is misunderstood, misread—not read—read too well. Kisses can be fraught as well as simple.
These two, women older and young, tall and easy in herself, small and full of coiled needs and energies, red and gold and bronze and brown and silver and pink and violet and dark green infused with mud and themselves, lined and freckled and lithe and still. These two kiss, in firelight, and read each other well.
They kiss.
Rating: PG-13
Length: 213
Round: 2/D
Competitor: Alanna
Summary: A sleep-deprived reflective piece of nonsense, in a very odd writing style. Still, Kel and Alanna kiss. Can be read with Leavetakings
A great deal you can say, and not say, in a kiss. You do not have to say anything, which is—surely—part of the joy. Simple, easy sweetness, pressure and release, tiny differences in breath and taste and scent and strength playing across your mind but only registering brief, present bursts—do this, yes. Good, even better if I turn my head, move my hand, trap her lip in mine, swallow...mmph. More teeth? Yes? No...no, this is better. God! I hope she does that again. Even these words, simple enough, give too much weight to it. And you might tell me there is meaning, in all of this Not Meaning, and I might just believe you.
Then there is the other kiss. The need—to say, to do, to touch/steal/give/love/hate/laugh/cry/hold-and-linger/end. The action in it, poorly framed by grammar or letter-shape. The action is misunderstood, misread—not read—read too well. Kisses can be fraught as well as simple.
These two, women older and young, tall and easy in herself, small and full of coiled needs and energies, red and gold and bronze and brown and silver and pink and violet and dark green infused with mud and themselves, lined and freckled and lithe and still. These two kiss, in firelight, and read each other well.
They kiss.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!