Prompt: , via writingprompts)
There's no heaven in the skies above for a man like me. Instead, there's Aria. There's only Aria.
She dredged me up from the cold, dark waters. Her fingers came as thirsty roots, seeking out bad men's blood in the deep black. Well, when she found me, adrift and under? She found it.
The sigh that trembled up her body sucked right through me like the pressure of a deep-dipped straw. Her pleasure teased the edges of my unsleeping consciousness - not in a sensual way, but in a clean sort of satisfaction. To Aria, I was sweet, chilled juice. I was something nourishing.
When she drank up a taste of my sins, her dark skin of green algae freckles started to glow.
She hauled me up and into a certain kind of paradise. I wasn't alone, and yet I really was. She set me up, at attention, on my feet, both beside her and inside of her. She hung there, hanging me from luminescent threads, under a shade of veiny moss, like witch's hair. Her roots dug deeper into me -draining out the bloat, the lingering trace of blood, and drop by drop? The memories.
I remembered dying, and then I didn't. It didn't matter. I remembered a Gloria? No, only Aria.
I reached out with hollowed hands. She let me hold her for a little while. Maybe a year. Maybe a decade. Maybe a moment, but moment's aren't a real measure of time. Not in a sensual way, but a clean kind of comfort. Her belly hummed a lullaby as her rough fingers stroked my soaked hair dry. Her eyes glimmered like coins in a pool. My arms began to blossom. Leaves and soft lilac.
Her kiss left my tongue as raw as sandpaper. It tore, but nothing bled. I gasped. She sighed.
She sucked out something important and slipped free of me. Not in a sensual way. Clean. Kind.
I'm never alone, but I am alone. I am alone, but I am grateful. I don't remember what I did wrong.
Thank you for that, Aria. Thank you.
(c) 2013 Lawerence Hawkins. Seeking writing prompts, reblogs, follows, feedback, and exposure!