prometheus 2
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Nov 1, 2002
- Posts
- 1,056
Dear Emma,
Was as far as he could get and his mind went
blank. It wasn't usually this way with him. He enjoyed writing letters short stories,articles, editorials, most of all poetry, that was his real love and he'd written several very good poems in the last two weeks. Somehow he felt Emma had inspired him. The two day he had spent with her at the writers retreat had left him with an unbelievable amount of creative energy and it was Emma who had helped him bring it out.
Why then was it so hard for him to write this simple letter to her. Well there were several, he surmised but the main one was, he never did really tell her how he felt even after making love with her, even after sharing his innermost feelings with her, he couldn't bring himself to say three simple words, He had felt it, he had sensed that she felt it too. They had shared it with their bodies and their minds, even their spirits but neither one of them had said the words. She was waiting for him no doubt, had he been waiting for her? Whatever the reason the words were never spoken.
" He thought back on those two days. There seemed to be a need to fulfill even from the begining, from their first conversation. A need to make haste as if they only had two days to make the magic happen. The magic that started right at the beginging. And it did happen. The first afternoon in the bright sunlight of a beautiuful fall day it couldn't have been more perfect this coming together, this magic, as if it was meant to be.
After that first time it was easier. They seemed to have more time to share the magic and time for reflecting and writing and sharing the other kinds of exctiement that two people destined to be together share. Holding hands, walking, sharing ideas, feelings, reading each others wwriting writing for each other. He grinned thinking about that night together.They had made a simple meal in their room. tea and sandwiches a salad from greans they had picked from the garden. They had washed up the few dishes thye had dirtied in a small basin their bodies touching off and on as their hands were busy tiding up. He remembered he'd grown impatinet feeling so close to her knowing that when they finished they would make love once more. At her instruction he took the scraps and peelings to the compost pile outside and hurried back missing her for just the few minutes he was gone.
He lauged outloud to himself as he remembered her suddenly getting shy and slipping quickly into her flannel nightgown and crawling between the covers.
He sat on his bunk to undress himself leaning back to kick off his boots. "Crash!" the bed fell apart under his weight. she looked out from beneath the covers and giggled. Then her face got serious and she beckoned him to join her in her little bunk. He crawled in trying not to bump or jostle her too much and she turned her back to him so he could get settled. "There isn't much room Hank, just put your arms around me and hold me for a while till I warm up. He had to admit it was quite cold and so he snuggled up behind her and pulled the covers over their heads.
The sound of the teakettle singing interupted his thoughts and as he poured his tea and stirred it with a spoon it came to him. " A poem! I'll write a poem, if I can't write a letter I'll write a poem"
Dear Emma he began again
Spoons
The small talk over
we busied ourselves tying up loose ends
You because that’s the way you wanted it
me because I knew you needed it that way
“Take out the garbage”
your voice was authoritative but your smile
softened the request
it always will
together we finished the dishes
by then I’d grown impatient
sensing this you
encouraged me with a look, a touch
Your eyes said it won’t be long now
and suddenly
The silverware I was putting away
became erotic
forks with tangled tines
knives face to face
spoons concave to convex
clinging tenaciously
Later, before the warm blankets
lulled us into sleep
I found the hollow of your back
pulling you into one more embrace
I thought of spoons
Hank
Was as far as he could get and his mind went
blank. It wasn't usually this way with him. He enjoyed writing letters short stories,articles, editorials, most of all poetry, that was his real love and he'd written several very good poems in the last two weeks. Somehow he felt Emma had inspired him. The two day he had spent with her at the writers retreat had left him with an unbelievable amount of creative energy and it was Emma who had helped him bring it out.
Why then was it so hard for him to write this simple letter to her. Well there were several, he surmised but the main one was, he never did really tell her how he felt even after making love with her, even after sharing his innermost feelings with her, he couldn't bring himself to say three simple words, He had felt it, he had sensed that she felt it too. They had shared it with their bodies and their minds, even their spirits but neither one of them had said the words. She was waiting for him no doubt, had he been waiting for her? Whatever the reason the words were never spoken.
" He thought back on those two days. There seemed to be a need to fulfill even from the begining, from their first conversation. A need to make haste as if they only had two days to make the magic happen. The magic that started right at the beginging. And it did happen. The first afternoon in the bright sunlight of a beautiuful fall day it couldn't have been more perfect this coming together, this magic, as if it was meant to be.
After that first time it was easier. They seemed to have more time to share the magic and time for reflecting and writing and sharing the other kinds of exctiement that two people destined to be together share. Holding hands, walking, sharing ideas, feelings, reading each others wwriting writing for each other. He grinned thinking about that night together.They had made a simple meal in their room. tea and sandwiches a salad from greans they had picked from the garden. They had washed up the few dishes thye had dirtied in a small basin their bodies touching off and on as their hands were busy tiding up. He remembered he'd grown impatinet feeling so close to her knowing that when they finished they would make love once more. At her instruction he took the scraps and peelings to the compost pile outside and hurried back missing her for just the few minutes he was gone.
He lauged outloud to himself as he remembered her suddenly getting shy and slipping quickly into her flannel nightgown and crawling between the covers.
He sat on his bunk to undress himself leaning back to kick off his boots. "Crash!" the bed fell apart under his weight. she looked out from beneath the covers and giggled. Then her face got serious and she beckoned him to join her in her little bunk. He crawled in trying not to bump or jostle her too much and she turned her back to him so he could get settled. "There isn't much room Hank, just put your arms around me and hold me for a while till I warm up. He had to admit it was quite cold and so he snuggled up behind her and pulled the covers over their heads.
The sound of the teakettle singing interupted his thoughts and as he poured his tea and stirred it with a spoon it came to him. " A poem! I'll write a poem, if I can't write a letter I'll write a poem"
Dear Emma he began again
Spoons
The small talk over
we busied ourselves tying up loose ends
You because that’s the way you wanted it
me because I knew you needed it that way
“Take out the garbage”
your voice was authoritative but your smile
softened the request
it always will
together we finished the dishes
by then I’d grown impatient
sensing this you
encouraged me with a look, a touch
Your eyes said it won’t be long now
and suddenly
The silverware I was putting away
became erotic
forks with tangled tines
knives face to face
spoons concave to convex
clinging tenaciously
Later, before the warm blankets
lulled us into sleep
I found the hollow of your back
pulling you into one more embrace
I thought of spoons
Hank
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