Spill

December 10th, 2006

we’ve just got home and are lying on the couch, still in our party clothes. my breasts are starting to hurt because they’re pressed so tightly into his chest, but i dont want to move. there is the smell of cigarette smoke in our hair and on his collar and on my dress.. and the musky taste of champagne still lingers on our lips. one champagne kiss, two champagne kisses, three champagne kisses on my neck. on my shoulders. mmmmm. this is one of those perfect nights.

on the floor are various remote controls, dvds, a box of truffles, a glass of water and remnants of a conversation about buses and contact lens solution. i’m feeling a little bit heady and a little bit giggly. indulge me, he asks, and after a lot of no’s and but-why’s, i finally give in. fingernails on wood, toes curled against the carpet, hair cascading down my back. the feel of his name on my lips is so. nice.

this is one of those perfect nights. when you just dont think. it’s like seeing flowers and a note for you. it’s like those dont-spoil-my-moment moments.. but deep down inside you secretly completely relish the moment being spoilt that way.

Entry Filed under: Martianisms, Musings