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Sensual encounters, steamy narratives, intimate desires
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The Second Tuesday in November
I watched the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the thick cord of muscle straining against a work-shirt that had seen better decades.
—because the lobby was too bright
Julian’s hand is a heavy, warm weight on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd like he owns the floor.
November 9th, 9:22 PM
My psoas muscle, usually the first thing to tighten under stress, felt like it was melting into the gallery floor.
A Frozen Brass Deadbolt
He looked at me like a breach of contract I couldn't litigate my way out of, all sawdust and winter wind.
Elena's Apron
The flour on her thumb looked like a smudge of chalk on a chalkboard, a mark of something being erased or rewritten right there in the steam.
Fixative
The camera shutter is a guillotine for time; it chops the continuous flow of our longing into discrete, manageable slices of evidence.