Pages from Andy's notepad
Untitled
Rating: T
Summary: The truth isn't that Andy hasn't been writing, she just doesn't share what she's written. Sometimes her pages are full of random words or small doodles, other times lines after lines fill the page. Written during the day, between shows or at night, Andy must purge her musing in order to focus on her job or even to sleep.
Andy clicked the light off and rolled over. Perhaps now sleep would calm her. The notepad lay open, the words written hastily, with enough room incase she were to receive an impromptus phone call.
Silver as the morning sun,
I feel as though I've come undone,
This enchantress who haunts my sleep,
Will leave my bed; and alone, I shall weep.
The ice of her tongue cuts swift like a knife,
Feverish and precise, easily taking a life.
But the essence of her being, through the struggle and strife
Has come to be my very elixir of life.
The gentle curvature of her softly taunt lips,
With black Channel draped over her hips,
The confidence and poise in her Prada clad stride,
Drives me crazy, for in no one I can confide.
What would she say if I told her this,
That I wonder what she looks like while writhing in bliss.
Her face flush and her hands anchoring in,
While rolling in bed, coveting a sin.
Against her beguiling chaise lounge or cool-surfaced desk,
Gently suckling and kneading her succulent breasts.
Firm and supple with a milky white tone,
I savor, I feel, listening to her moan.
Alas, my eyes, mind, and restraint grow weak,
My tortured soul's future mysterious yet bleak.
Goodnight my love, goodnight my muse.
I'll dream of her here, or there; wherever I choose.