She carried in joy as soon as she opened the door. Her lips were the colour of springtime and her hair smelled of the sun. Her hand as it brushed across my scalp left a trail of sparkles and stars, and her kiss was fire and lightning. She brought me wine and chocolate, wrapped in bright, crackling paper and silken ribbons. Shiraz, loaded with blueberries and blackcurrants and soft, sweet black cherries, redolent with black pepper, vanilla, spices and oak. It left crimson trails down the glasses as we tipped them to drink. Glossy dark chocolate, gleaming, sweet, and bitter, snapped sharply between my fingers, and melted on my tongue. When she left, the light left with her and darkness settled quiet and still into the corners of the room, deep as cat's fur and velvet, shifting only slightly in the flickering of the fire and the candles.
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Writing short fiction, monologues and plays