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| What I remember most is the silence. Bursting with expectancy like the fullness of summer's end. Ripe. Fecund. A breathless pause before the urgency of harvest. Poised on the edge of ecstasy to come. Maybe. A rich, tender, gathering of emotion that goes beyond tears. What I remember most is the silence * What I remember most is the silence. The aftermath of passion shattered by the highs and lows of dark desires. The hardness of a hand following the curves of my belly, smoothing damp strands of hair from my face. Gentling. Stilling the faint tremble of spent flesh. What I remember most is the silence. * What I remember most is the silence of a sunny afternoon. My head in his lap. His hand in my hair. Drowsing in the comfortable quiet of understanding. Not anticipating or remembering. Only the stillness of quiet being. * What I miss the most is the silence. |
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| Silence |
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