notes: Bleh, I randomly found this unfinished snippet of a thought. I completely forgot where I wanted to go with it, but I tried to pick it up again, so shrugs. It's kinda just experimental word vomit, and I don't particularly care for its poetry or prose or whatever hybridness. Forgive me for bending rules.
quench
Their first, second, third, and last kiss.
Their first kiss
was out by the ocean, umbrella-ed under the starry night. She was hesitant and he wasn't ready but when their experimental lips crashed together, they steamed, they reacted and every chemical seemed to fit together all too naturally. It scared him when he felt her lips drowned him and he had to stop to take a quick breath but he needed her again to tame the fire that welled at the back of his parched throat. So he went again, tasting the salt and the sand and her soft soft lips.
Their second kiss
was inside a smoke-filled room, hazy with the scent of an apple-cinnamon candle flame. She was willing and he was able and when their practiced lips melded together, they dissolved, they thawed into each other's arms and every molecule in their bodies stirred with the same thrum of the moan that emerged from deep within her. He defrosted her inhibitions as his fingers traced hot hot trails over her skin and she broke for a gasp of fresh air but she needed him again before passion consumed her. So she went again, tumbling into the musky sheets of his bed.
Their third kiss
was spent together alone swimming in a hot onsen situated in cold snow. Her laughter bubbled like the geyser spouts of the hot spring as his black-white bangs tickled her left right collarbones, the bristles of his three-days-past shaven jaw trickling down her neck like the drops of cooling water falling from her shoulders to rejoin their chemical cousins. She turned to exhale onto his skin, her hot breath condensing on his cool skin, and she felt him shiver as he caressed her blue blue hair. The surface rippled over them, the water encroaching back forth over their skin, tickling them between hot water, cold air as they synched, breaking the smooth surface with the same waves. Who ever said blood was thicker than water when the steam was simply saturated with their lust?
Their last kiss
was before their mission goodbye.
Her heart stopped—froze—when she found a new face to her liking, and he could feel the chill of her disinterest all the way through to his bones when she turned her head, her eyes focused only ahead into her new future. She found a new family, a new partner, within the brick-red walls of a new home and he found his own distractions as he dedicated himself within the brick-red walls of a classroom.
Now
He wakes up in the dark of the early morning from sudden thunderstorms outside, the rain pattering hard against his window like the gunshot bullets that he sometimes feels in his chest.
He's thirsty and he has no choice but to drag his heavy feet out of his cold bed, walks down the cold dark hallway hearing just the echoes of his weary footsteps and his empty heartbeat.
He fetches a cup of water, pours it to the top.
He raises his lips to the glass, drinks and drinks to the bottom, but finds he is never fully satisfied.
end notes: I'm posting this about a month after I wrote it, thinking oh you poor angsty past-self. whatever made you so bitter.
Sigh. Would love to hear your thoughts! Else, I wade in my own.
thir13enth