I remember lying next to her in the bed, my hand running across her stomach, and the way her breathing changed. I remember her leaning her lips and chest close to mine, when we were standing, her warmth palpable between the short distance that bridged the divide between us, her fingers skirmishing with the waist-seam and beltloops of my jeans. "It's not fair," she whispered at the corner of my lips, her fingers working with the fabric of my shirt, "because you always tuck your shirt in." -- 2 seconds after I had just caressed her waist inside hers. "Well," I said, a part of me smiling and blushing inside where she couldn't see it, "You could always take it out," -- and her lips kissed me -- my lips moving in to meet hers, and our kissing the way it always was; loving, soft, wet, plump. Her hand made its way into my shirt and found my waist. And she knew that it was a sign of intimacy, that somebody as prudish as me, would let her untuck my shirt, and let her hand find my waist, with my lips on her lips.
***
It's like the world expands to 10 times its size, faster than existence, in the memories like that.
*
Not really a poem, but kept here until I find out where to put it.
Copyright ©2006 Ashi Shadow 11/19/06 on Katie