Dans le lit, le baiser, Henri de Toulouse Lautrec, 1892.

Blue eyes flashed hot, leaving every pink part of her flushed and tingling with invisible touches.

Smiles were promises; kisses delicate sweet wine, an erotic warmth she drank down. Her heart fell from a flying trapeze.

Later, their bodies asked rain scented midnight questions.

This is how it began. Why spoil the story by telling you how it ended?

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This entry is part of Jack Rusher’s archive, originally published January 9th, 2014, in New York.