Worth 1000 Words

A place for me to stretch my writing muscles with flash fiction.

A place for you to poke my muse with a picture or a few words.

A place for my characters to peek out from beyond 'the end'...
Dancing with Anando is like colors bursting behind your closed eyes in patterns that have no meaning and yet mean everything to you. There is beauty in the way his fingers brush against you, a caress that doesn’t reveal its name. There is warmth in his hands when he draws you closer to him, even if it’s only the warmth reflected from your own skin. There is fire in his eyes, as dark as they may be: flames that dance like he does, close to you, following your heartbeat just a much as the music. Making love to Anando is like dancing with him.

Dancing with Anando is like colors bursting behind your closed eyes in patterns that have no meaning and yet mean everything to you. There is beauty in the way his fingers brush against you, a caress that doesn’t reveal its name. There is warmth in his hands when he draws you closer to him, even if it’s only the warmth reflected from your own skin. There is fire in his eyes, as dark as they may be: flames that dance like he does, close to you, following your heartbeat just a much as the music.

Making love to Anando is like dancing with him.

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