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Nereid (standard:Flash, 193 words)
Author: CyranoAdded: Oct 05 2008Views/Reads: 1946/0Story 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 

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. 


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