A Lucid Dream of Her by mauro nieto
The light of her shiny silhouette, as the blue hue of the mountain ridge. Acquired by consensus, calmly moving at the rhythm of her breath. She was only a dream, her glowing heat still on every inch of the white crispy sheets. She is the morning particles floating by the windowsill, so close yet unattainable, captivating, fleeting, graceful. The melodious chant of a thousand women, funneled into her voice. Her breath carried the scent of forest and valleys, it saturated the room with the fragrance of flowers and trees coloring my thoughts with white, yellow, and red. She felt fresh like moss—soothing, humid, and full of life. Her fingers lightly scratch every corner of my mind, slowly carving her face in my brain. Her skin as different soils, golden, some darker and fertile, as the banks of a fruitful river. Her hair, a maze impossible to scape from. The shade of her body painted in my chest, with her clear thin saliva, made sex feel like love, and love feel like sex.
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