Sleep (Don’t Touch Me)

insidetheclock

The drapes draw a line of light blue across the white ceiling, the gap minimal but evident as the glow of night pours in. His eyes move fast, left to right; a film of sleep has zipped them tightly together. A slow tick sounds as the alarm clock crawls on through a dark phase of REM-sleep, accompanying the movements of dreams inside his cranium.

Her auburn hair in the sharp sunlight of that September morning after; that sweet-scented neck he had more than once had the privilege of burying his face in. A hint of a smile appears on his face, rough and tinted, a single dimple on the right cheek. Chilly fingers interlock; whispers in high-alert ears.

In his mind, he begins to tread carefully across her body once more with feather-light fingertips, reminiscent of diving beneath warm flannel covers, the hot darkness making each touch louder, strident. The…

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