Sevens


Rustling of covers, aces to the floor forgotten, a bare flank flashes. Silver moonlight streams from the pulled back drapes, spreading across the enormous creaking wooden bed, as the undulating rhythm plays oceanic on the walls with waves of moans and oft repeated phrases. The room becomes rapturously glorious.


Copyright © 2004 Stephanie A Moore
All Rights Reserved

50 words by moonstarnine.
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