Afternoon with Mrs. Sanders
Her smock flakes off onto the ebony tile floor. Reading his face she giggles; it has been a long time since any man admired her glow. She plugs his lips with two of her fingers and pins him down onto the clay and paint mosaic table. Her skin glitters with sweat beneath the fluorescent tubes hanging from the ceiling. The window permits a small breeze which meticulously sculpts their contours. Her spine arches upward. Her desperation is expelled, little by little, through a melody of sighs and... Sign in to see full entry.