Room 1602

1602

Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks
Plutarch.


 

One day I will write about this place.

One day I will write about this bedroom turned into an amateur’s classroom.

One day I will write about room 1602 with the larger than life bathtub, the blue wall to wall lush carpet and the huge French windows.

One day I will write about the kingsize bed and the Egyptian cotton sheets and them feeling like silk on skin.

One day I will write about the cream colored walls and the huge vase filled with plastic flowers that we almost knocked over..

One day I will write about the carpet burns on our knees and our backs and the broken pinkie nail next to the bedside lamp broken in the throes of satiating passion.

One day I will write about the magic made in that very room; the fireworks and the explosions all topped with abandoned caution.

One day I will write about kisses landing in forbidden places.

One day I will write about the insatiable magical need to taste and feel both of your lips while we traded places..

One day I will write about every pull, every tug, every spank and every thrust. All of which are just but a distant memory now.

One day I will write about 6 pairs of hands, 3 set of lips and 3 tongues working together beautifully like an abandoned concert piece.

One day I will write about the now abandoned memories that replay in my head on loop as if on cue every time she calls.

One day I will write about this place.  

 

 

 

 

#fiction #poetry #evokingemotion #unpublished