Fiction in 58, a story in small packaging

A Fiction in 58:

Aftermath

A tangle of sheets, not enough cover, heat radiates, knocks back the chill of the night.
Sweat cools on flesh, smiles tucked into warm curves. Talk, small, in whispers like someone will overhear.
He watches her nod slowly off, listens as quick breaths ease into measured cadence.
He slips off, too, sheltered in the passion generated between them.

2 comments:

Hal Johnson said...

Powerful stuff, and it kind of blurs the line between prose and poetry in a way.

Say, was she by chance a teacher?

blisshappens said...

I found this one poetic too -Meg