chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

fragments…touch

velvet
She smoothed the front of the velvet shirt, letting her hands skim the silky nap down from her shoulders, over the round rise of her breasts, down to the turned hem at the hip. She remembered the chinchilla, a small, warm weight in her hand, with fur so exquisitely soft that it had no texture — the quintessence of softness. She thought of her grandmother’s mink coat, threadbare and finally deconstructing to its stitched panels, thrown over the big chair where she would sit reading for hours, petting the glossy tatters of fur.

Her hands were hungry, reawakening, longing for touch. Perhaps it started in the hands. Or perhaps it was just what she would allow, the defensive gates still drawn neatly across the doorway. The hand reaches out between the protective bars, vulnerable, empty, seeking.

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