Slipping Down

Occasionally I slip into something
that reminds me of you. With a heart-stopping  
shudder your lips are brushing my ear.    
We're sitting in that dingy apartment in some far away city
talking about things we wouldn't
have dared to anywhere else.  
I was fascinated, infatuated. You were the very  
soft-soaked paintbrush that I needed  
to be painted with. You knew my colors better
than I did, at a time when  
I didn't know anything.
Sometimes I see your eyes, or hair, flashing  
reflections in random women. You were  
a minute and a half, and still, your scent lingers.
Written by Eerie
Author's Note
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 8 reading list entries 3
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nomoth Bluevelvete Remy_L
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