Sneaking a Kiss
Gypsy GirlText Box: Sneaking a Kiss in the Parlour Somewhere between public and private, chamber pots and street traffic horns, our unctuous parlour of whispered secrets. You are sitting right across from me, still as a picture in my grandmother’s house; only here all old formality hangs cold. Yet, framed by icy glass, everything is charged hot with electrified decorum; it holds every subtle moment frozen. Soft blush of silk laces around your neck, budding between your high necked breasts - frills fragrant as a hidden cleavage rose. That smile suspends with delicate accent, glistens smooth as a Faberge tight-rope strung between those snow flake dimples. Forward sweet oblivion! No turning back I now focus like an acrobat about to take his first step onto a supple sky of mirrors. Your coy lips in center of it all, I try to hold my balance, until a swoon begins in direction of your slightly tilting head. Slender fingers brush strawberry locks of shoulder length hair back, just far enough, to expose a beckoning ear now opening. Darting eyes, a vortex of understated desires spinning me into a room of rich Victorian reds. Please oriental threads, lace a golden tapestry. Fate hold a shared stolen secret. I so want to slide my arm under your arm, I so want to slip towards you as my other arm bends a curve. Your settee now opens like a mouth and I fall past all knowing into this concealed mystery. Background silence spins an endless circle. I want to hide in here forever, savouring each next kiss never disclosed beyond closed doors. This story is forever; but our time, oh so short. Jim Larwill