Body Poetry
By Pipins Ancestor
My fingers trace the flowing outline of his neck,
travelling down to his chest, which rises and falls softly as
blissful dreams take him far from this bedroom.
His skin is velvety soft and smooth, warm to the touch and
oh-so kissable, I cannot resist the temptation and do; I kiss it
softly, my lips lingering on his flesh and my breath warming it.
He stirs from his silent slumber and changes positions, the
fluid-like grace of his body as he turns mesmerises me as he
becomes comfortable.
His uncovered torso is chiselled from years of Quidditch and I
lightly pass my fingers over his stomach, feeling him shiver
underneath me as he registers my touch.
His silvery blonde hair falls across his forehead and into his
eyes, I reach out a careless hand to brush it away and
silently wonder why he gels it back everyday when he
would look so much better if he would just keep it as it is
naturally, silky soft and flowing over his forehead and
partially obscuring his eyes.
His eyes, I can see them now, even when they are covered
in innocent sleep, the changing seasons are reflected in
those eyes, so many colours pass through them.
Silver anger flares in them, passionate glances filled with
azure blue, soft grey of amusement and the dark aquamarine
of simple bliss have all been trapped in those eyes, so many
feelings in an otherwise emotionless face.
His face, angelic with ignorance from the world around him
as his mind soars through the clouds of dreams.
His features, carved like a renaissance statue, perfectly
proportioned. The brilliant pale glow from the shaft of
moonlight falling across the pillow and onto his face makes
him look as if he really is made of stone, his face so pale and
his features so faultless.
In impulse I lean in and kiss him, my lips on his, soft and warm
and slightly parted, I feel him awaken and respond to my kiss,
deepening it, as it grows more passionate.
We break away slightly, breathing hard and he looks at me,
those amazing eyes searing into my soul with a gaze full of
love and lust.
"Harry" he whispers, his voice husky, I look up and fall into
the endless haven of his eyes.
He reaches out a slim, pale hand and gently strokes my
cheek, a loving caress as his lips once more cover mine
while my own fingers trace the flowing outline of his neck,
travelling down to his chest, which rapidly rises and falls as
blissful reality envelopes us in this bedroom.
Body poetry.
Well, there you go! This was inspired by Sarha210's "Saturday Afternoons", that's where I got the idea of the repetition at the beginning and end!
You see the little box down there? Go write what you thought of this one-shot in it. Pipins Ancestor
The one that says "Review"?
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