Vintage-I

The ticking sound of typewriters coming from the vintage coffee shop in midsummer nights. A mouthwatering aroma of tantalizing coffee and pastel colors of the cafe walls captivated my mind, awestruck I walked inside the aesthetic hallways till she greeted me with a warm hug. The mere reason for visiting this place was not the place itself, but her.

I never made it to the eye contact with her and my eyes, unable to witness the glinting aura she reflected, kept staring at her round, young bosom. From bosom to thighs, she was a milky divine. I still remember that craving inside my soul, when her hand caressed my shoulder, from time to time. The fire which burned me inside, the desire I had to cage within. The animal inside me, ready to unleash and ravish on her fair, plump skin, yet suppressing my flaming hunger for her, I too smiled at her sometimes.

Eyes mirror your heart, I don’t believe. Because if they did, she could see me preying on her, alive, every day, every night, little by little, slowly. Eating her flesh, quenching my thirst till the last drop leaves her body, bringing her back to life.