Wednesday, 26 June 2013

I Am Your Canvas

"I hunger for your sleek laugh, and your hands the colour of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty."

She still sat by her window on the granite slab. That was where she always sat when she commenced writing something new each time. The deadline was around the weekend and she hadn't started her new piece at all. She'd been one of those lightening delights since the first day she'd entered office. And her columns were a treat for both the magazine and the readers. She was any editor's dream writer. Anything she wrote had to bring a smile to even the most disinterested creature on the planet. Writing always came naturally to her. But she felt lost today. Distracted. All she could think of was..

"A man who prides himself on never committing the sin, has never met a woman with brains." 

And with that being the last sentence of the chapter, she bookmarked the page and placed the book carefully aside on the tiny circumference metal table. She notice her toes clinking together through the intricately designed holes in the table top. As she lifted her coffee and dipped in her eyes on the freshly brewing froth of her cappuccino, she dwelled in the freshness and the sudden caffeine hit of it. She gently pulled out her box of cigaretters and took one out to light. She smirked as she held one between her lush, tinted lips, recalling herself five years back. Who would have thought the big glasses wearing nerd would turn out to be a smoker, and potentially hot too. She liked to think that she was now considerably good to look at because she felt every bit of it. No matter how slow or bad a day, she would pick out a new shade of lipstick and play with her eye shades to feel up. And it always worked for her. Throwing the lighter carelessly across the table, she heard a voice calling for the waiter. A voice that was smooth, and every bit as dark and ostentatious. A voice that did something to her, and she was compelled to look up to find somebody sitting right in her direction. She saw him using his hands as he flipped through the menu card, his fingers articulately making out with the thick glossy pages. She saw him lick his lower lip and turn it in his mouth like a surrender of a want to the need. He might do it often whilst thinking, she reckoned, because his eyes scanned every detail of the page, like she was scanning his every crusade. She was accustoming herself to his every custom like a cruciality to herself. If anything, she only felt more vulnerable sitting right there in front of him. Not that he'd noticed her, and not that she'd wanted him to. He would know that she'd been gaping at him with an open mouth. She lowered her gaze and nibbled her lower lip. She felt her blood warming through her veins. The lustful sights she threw his way made her wish he wasn't so much of a god damned eye candy. And as slowly as she could finish her cigarette, she stubbed it in the ash tray and looked up as she gathered her book for her handbag to gulp it. She looked up again, reassuring herself for last time's sake. And her breath caught in her throat. He was staring right back at her, was grinning. A smile that said, that she was exactly where he wanted her to be. She could have sworn that if they'd been any place else, they'd both be stripping off each other's clothes. She shook her head like a wet puppy and faked one of the most brilliant smiles to show courtesy. 

"There is no fulfillment that's not made sweeter for the prolonging of the desire.

She smiled into nothingness. Her friends kept telling her, but she understood what lust actually meant. For her, it was the difference between two people you might want to marry and one you might want to make love with. She stared into the bright screen, in the dimly lit room, started writing, "A man who's never lusted, has never known beauty........"

Retrospecting, still,

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