|Nereid (standard:Flash, 193 words)|
|Author: Cyrano||Added: Oct 05 2008||Views/Reads: 1853/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Anyone who's read me, knows me. I wait, still.|
Shiverings mutter and rise from the glassy lake's surface toward a scaffolding of blue sky. He sits on the shore and waits, as he's waited so many times. Since he does not love women - although full of passion – and since he cares nothing for the things one cares for – fleeing from every moral law – he knows with disturbing authority, and the force from within his soul - that she will come. She will rise naked, with firm body, small breasts, and wonderfully touching innocence. Was it really like this? Or does the dream grow cold? Harmonic elevations rise and fall in his genital regions, his heart aflame with want in this place where the legend of the water heaven has risen. The dream is swift and intense. It is the sound of dead loves orchestrated under the waning perfume of morning. Only a poet could make of such a face, a face in which all a man's hopes and fantasies are satisfied, then the neck, the shoulderblades, the irregular indentations of the spine's curvature, and a man in love with the perfection, the unrevealed beauty of the muse beneath the water's clothing. Tweet
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