Poisonous

A man’s greatest tools. Wielding the hammer, the pen, the sword. Giving motion direction. Giving ink purpose. His fingers. 

Capable of wreaking havoc if in the wrong hands. Capable of destroying lives.

Like a smoky tendril, they surreptitiously snaked around. Like an unwanted rope, they tightened. So alien and encroaching on that soft cotton landscape. He grinned at her, and brushed his truant charges across the expanse. For to him, that was what it was – an expanse of land. To be claimed, marked, and forgotten. He drew them away, raked his eyes down her length one last time, and vanished.

She hung her head resignedly. She could feel the ghosts of his fingers lingering on her bust, reaching through to her heart and making it burn. A burn so shameful, so sharp, so familiar. A burn so poisonous.