The Crimson Lips Davus Misses

A Story by midiel

This dark dreary drowsy dusk, the pupils stand in the corner gazing the knob with fire and dire. Still looking and waiting, anxiously for the turning of it. The heart twitches, skips a few beats of tension when signaled by brains how you wouldn’t turn up tonight. How is that even possible? Weren’t you just here a few sets of second hand rounds ago? The finger touches the lips. Warm and wet. Isn’t this sweetness yours?

How I miss you, my lady.

The days are long and the darks are restless but you’re not here. Have I sinned be thinking and distracted by your vivid images? If I did, I should never hesitate to go to the said-hell placement. Distraction you are, perfection. This Davus misses your commandments, your biased judgments, your sense and your elegance. This Eru longs for your sheer skin, your tongue and crimson lips. This soul melts thinking of your husky vocals, your touch on my limping torso and little bones spread clenching my bosoms. I shouldn’t go on; you’d be belittled by these accounts. I compare thee to nothing. I swear thee on this humble filthy train of feelings; thy haunting presence swells me I couldn’t bear.

How I love you, my lady.