snippet from Stain
Stain
There is a stain upon your skin, a bruise. The edges are lilac, but the centre is a deep midnight blue. I run my fingers over it and feel the slight bump. When I press my lips against the abrasion I cannot prevent myself from brushing my tongue against it, wondering whether it will taste different. It doesn't; it tastes as warm and earthy as the rest of your flesh. You stir in your sleep, giving a little sigh. Still, I don’t stop. Your fingers curl inwards against my shoulder blade and your leg moves against mine. I press my hand deeper into the warm centre of our coiled nest. Slowly we move our arms and legs, skin gliding against skin, sanding away the cold, generating energy, friction. My eyes droop and the world goes black. A deep, thick night of nothingness descends as my mind falls backwards and away. I see it all in cloudy veils of receding consciousness. My nerves are awake, alive and I give control to my body. Now where my mouth travels is directed by taste, which explores and maps, leaving trails of cooling saliva like cartographic lines charting the rise and fall of your terrain. I sense, but do not know. I feel the quiver of muscle beneath taught skin raised by bone.

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