Silk Destruction

As cold as ice, the blade drew circles in her flesh. Never penetrating the flawless canvas below, the artist kept his design in his own mind. Gently her stomach sucked in, the sharp silver caressing the layers of her skin. His head spun with thoughts of sickening beauty. Not every portrait is worthy of hanging on the wall of the Louvre. Some are kept in the depths of a lover’s mind. She placed her hand above his, guiding the destruction into the silk of her being.

A.J. Luna

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s