Ice and flame

By the time the moon rose, its clear light
freezing, like a veil of ice, in that moment, our
passion was the only warm thing there. It burned.
At our first touch, the world itself flared, turned
its gaze on us – seeking out that fierce, hot power
blossoming between us, wild and brave and bright.

For Laura at dVerse, who invites us to take a line from a “kissing” poem, place it vertically, and make a poem from it. She also invited us to use a form – I’ve gone with a sestain, with a rhyme scheme ABCCBA, just because I like it. I chose the line “by freezing passion at its blossoming” from Neil Carpathios’ poem “The Kiss”. If this doesn’t make sense, check out Laura’s explanation over at dVerse.

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Microfiction for Jane Dougherty – the blue kiss.

This is for Jane Dougherty’s microfiction challenge. I’ve gone a tiny bit over the 200 words. She has suggested we do this as part of an on-going story (if we want to). I’m going to try it out, see where we go. The painting is by Munch – The kiss at the window. Edvard_Munch_-_Kiss_by_the_window_(1892)

The night air was hot and heavy on Stella’s skin, but she shivered as she slipped inside the darkened hallway. She shook her head. Rich people always turned the aircon up to high.It grew colder as she headed up the stairs, towards the bedroom.

Mr Locatelli had been very clear:

“You go in, you take pictures, you come out. Something that will stand up in court.”

He’d provided a plan of the house and snapshots of his wife. Stella had taken the job. The rent was due: she needed the money or she’d be sleeping in her office again.

The door handle was ice cold – she was glad of her leather gloves. As she pushed it open there was a rumble of thunder, and as she stepped into the room a flash of lightning illuminated the couple by the window. The man raised his lips from the woman’s neck, but then the light was gone as quickly as it had come.

She heard an almighty smash and fumbled to switch on the lights. She instinctively looked towards the window, but it was open wide. The man was gone, and where the couple had been were only scattered shards of what had once been Mrs Locatelli.