Amplitudes of emotion
coursed his veins, his young flesh
wed to eyes in constant motion.
On her perch he envisioned heavenly
auras enhanced by multitudes of color
from his imagination.
With a tongue numbed by inaction,
he sensed little to risk and quipped,
“Don’t I know you from church camp?”
Fred Miller is a California writer. Over forty of his stories have appeared in various publications around the world. Some of these stories appear in his current blog.
He has no control as he falls deeper into the unknown abyss. Its essence finds him, surrounds him, and becomes him until he can scarcely breathe.
The deeper he falls the dimmer his past, but as desperation dies away it’s replaced with something far more stomach-churning yet wonderful… called love.
Connell is known, in some parts, for writing a reasonably eclectic mix of stories.
She had waited patiently. He didn’t want a relationship.
Returning to the bar, she heard the taunt from his friends: “Kiss her!” He hesitated as he leaned in, lips touching hers.
She felt herself falling into a chasm, melting down its walls.
Thirty years later, he is still kissing her.
Alison likes to write. She is celebrating her thirtieth anniversary, still kissing the man above.