AnastasiaRoses

Her lips were red, American Red, and the marks they left against Leoluca’s surprisingly pale skin were satisfyingly bright in the dim candlelight of the room.  Where once the golden wedding band had sat upon his restless skin, Joanna’s vivid lips left a far more comfortable brand.  As her nails lightly scratched their way down his lithe, racer’s back, the costume ring she always wore on her right hand came loose and clattered upon the marble floor of Leoluca’s hotel bathroom.  The jarring sound of false luxury striking the real thing made Joanna pause the course her lips were charting over his devastatingly masculine t

O golden-haired goddess, mistress of Cyprus, Shaking always the phren within mine chest, I beg of thee but one thing, weaver of wiles: Bring slender-ankled Damareta, to me! When I hear her sweet voice, shriller still than the cicada’s, When I see her dancing, her variegated, long robes trailing, I am close to death it seems, for she spares not a thought for wretched me, Scorning my hair, paler than grass. Sweat like fire trails over my skin, Each breath is a labor, but that dark-eyed maiden is unaffected, Unstriken by limb-relaxing Eros, the subduer, Ignorant of my laughter-loving mistress. With pained kardia, I implore you, child of

As I stroke your chiseled jaw, devouring with my eyes every facet of your visage, you stare impassively back at me.  The whisper of my fingers tracing the veins in your well-formed arm elicits no reaction.  The sensation of my breath raises no hair on the back of your neck, nor does your breathing quicken when I lean in close.  Alas!  This is how it shall always be between you and I.  What other than a stony response can one expect of marble? I am always falling in love with men made of marble, bronze, or ink because they are more steadfast of heart than their fleshy counterparts.  You see, they almost never cause you heartache.  The only sad

          Wretch, beware the woman walking the byways lit by Selene!  Cast her out from your life! Spurn her wicked wiles won at Hecate's altar!  Who is this unnatural woman who came hither in the night to whisper poison in your ears?  Those impossible dreams she spurred on were beautiful and lusty, full of promise and passion, but recall, my dear fool, that they were just dreams, not reality, not possibilities which might be.  That witch, the sultry enchantress of the golden gaze, she will try to ensnare you with her unholy potion and should you fall into her net, woeful is the fate to come.          Oh, would that I gave such warning!  Wo

Oh Great Comforter in the sky, where is your comfort?  What solution can those archaic words in Your ancient book offer up to my years of suffering?  This garish cross, an inescapable reminder in the black vault of the sky, what can it do to ease the sting in my lamentation?  I deserved better than this and I am calling You to account. As I stood on the brick wall awash in the light of that neon cross, I was blinded by my tears and lost among my violent emotions. Once again I am left shattered and utterly alone, abandoned by another man for whom I was never and could never be good enough.  That towering, empty symbol lit up the dreary night,

          Do you remember that time that we reclined by the sea, letting the weak waves lap at our legs as we stared up at the vast heavens?  Do you remember reciting Annabel Lee in that melodramatic manner of yours?  It was glorious and beautiful and perfect until that last stanza.  Perhaps your voice cracked because laying by the side all thro' the night tide of your darling bride, a beautiful but recently cold corpse, hit too close to home.  That was when you believed that I was not long for this world and were trying to convey to me just how much I meant, with all the fervid passion of your twenty years. As we swam through the billowing w

It was night, and Shoshanna was just a woman alone in bed until that clock struck midnight and she became a woman, twenty-nine years of age, whose tears were being sopped up by a pillow.  Lying face down and clutching at the hollow heart hammering restlessly against her ribcage, she felt the loneliest she ever has.  The imagined twinge in that overworked organ began to ache in earnest as the tears fell ever more profusely from her eyes.  Wishing that she could physically reach in to hold her own barren heart together, Shoshanna heard its thin walls begin to crack.  In that moment, it was as if she could feel the fissures as they formed, omino

        Henrì stared at her across the room, his heart soaring and falling in time with the sound of her voice seductively rasping into the microphone.  She was his siren sweetly singing and her voice was the only thing occupying his consciousness.  Though her lyrics were impersonally crafted by some stranger, Henrì was fully convinced that she chose them just for him.  There just had to be a message hidden in all those dulcet tones.  So his heart was at the point of braking as she crooned: "Why couldn't you be a little more like someone else?"  Brooding, he ordered another scotch, his fifth, staring down the waitress after she'd su