Tuesday, September 08, 2015

Lapdog in mourning.

The beauty stands stone like, carved not crafted, her hands are tucked away beneath her shoulders, her legs squared away, her back is straight but hardened. her gaze is in waiting.

He wouldbeherowouldbelover comes from behind to caress those caught shoulders, they move not an inch, he plies at them pleads with his hands for a break, a break through.
He alters, wraps his muscles around her, holds her. She does not break.
His face is casual but his hands are desperate, they slide around, her back, her shoulder, her neck, her collarbone, his movements show he'd  steal her away, give her a new day, take what she gave, but she won't let him.
He leans into her back, knowing her braced stance will hold him, his arm around her chest,  synchronizing breaths in the attempt, she does not falter. 

She waits, eyes straight, her coffee is served and she breaks her posture to lift it to her mouth. 

And then she acknowledges him.



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