PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Gingerly he trailed his fingers across the patch of tiny red bumps along her ribcage. The skin beneath prickled at his touch. "It goes away in the Summer. My body doesn't like having to wear clothes," she stated practically, which led to his imagining what her warm-weather attire looked like. Was it nothing at all? He had seen her naked before but never like this, only in the context of the Pavasaris rites which were modest and conducted with great reverence. Those she had stopped attending many years ago and he long despaired of ever seeing her again, yet here he was, intimately tangled with her in post-coital bliss.