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Mar 2018
[The scene is reminiscent of a long exposure time lapse. The kind where the universe is painted in streaks across the darkness above. Except, maybe, time is moving exactly as it normally would but the stars still drag through the sky as the wind drags across your skin. You’re both strewn upon the seats, in the back of an open, moving car. Swimming through the city, through the bright lights. The deep rumbles of engines and of lovers – tangled in embrace – wave. Neither of you wave back.

Instead, they’re found enmeshed with your body. With you. Their shoulder is burrowed in the junction of yours. They’ve got your right hand grazing their lips and your fingertips caught between their teeth. They’ve got one hand running lines – vocalising desires – along the curve of your leg that’s wrapped around their hip and captured between their thighs.

You’ve got your left hand nestled in between (and all around) the valleys of their coarse curls. Every so often, your fingertips grasp their earlobe and tug…slightly.

You have a sort of gentle smile on your face as you gaze down with soft adoration, and you feel your heart burst (a little) at the tenderness of this moment. This mellow, dazing, single moment of being wrapped up in each other. With the whole world ebbing and flowing around you. You are here, with them, and all that exists is this.]
Written by
Razeena Bham  Johannesburg|South Africa
(Johannesburg|South Africa)   
153
 
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