April 3rd

From my 365 day writing project, A Year's Worth of Words (allysonraewrites.tumblr.com)

I remember the cracks and pops of his bones as they
settled into their rightful place with the stretch of his tired limbs,
the aching muscles protesting with the first movement of the morning.
A moan of satisfaction pouring from deep within his throat
and washing over me with the sweetness and slickness of honey, dripping
from the top of the smiling bear’s head. Settling back against the pillows,
still warm from the heat of his body, he’d sigh and reach for me,
tangling the unkempt strands of hair around his fingers, while he
thought I still slept soundly beside him.

He should have known better; the absence of my soft snoring—which
I still insist is merely fabrication—his first clue to my state of wakefulness,
but if he did know, he didn’t show it. I’d feel his fingers as they
caressed my scalp, before slowly sliding free from the tawny
locks of silk and sweat and tracing his fingertips along the curve of my
spine, playing each vertebrae like the bells of a xylophone.

When I’d finally turn to face him, his gaze would lock with mine,
a heaven of milk  chocolate encased beneath those eyelashes, and for
a moment I felt like that greedy Augustus Gloop, hopelessly drowning in
a river of the sweetest chocolate on Earth. And maybe I was, only
I was greedy for his kiss, his touch,  his taste: sweeter than
any chocolate money could buy. And with him, I was hopelessly drowning
in a love I could not escape from. To this day, I am still.

Through drowsy, half-lidded eyes, I’d watch that grin creep
across his face, likened to that of the Cheshire Cat, hungry with longing
and desire. I’d curl myself into the warmth of his side, my hip pressed into
his thigh and breathe him in, slowly steadying myself for the onslaught
of emotion that still took me by surprise with each kiss. His lips, soft and
warm against mine felt like home, and he tasted of the coffee and stale
cigarettes left over from our late night of whispered words and
promises we swore we’d never break.

Only we did break them, somewhere between
“I love you,” and “it’s over,” we forgot the things we
always said we’d do, the plans we made in the misty haze of a forever
that ended too soon. And now I’m left to be swallowed whole in
those milky chocolate memories of a winter that felt far less cold.