Most Holy

It begins in the whispering dark of an unlit room where sweat cools but doesn’t dry on skin too eager for touch. Mouth, breast, belly… hands clenching in sheets and flesh out of need older than the speaking of any word and more sacred than the invoking of any prayer. It begins there, in the damp darkness of a room well known and doesn’t cease until all thought is squandered and all that remains is the mute knowledge of her body: here is the center of all worldly elements; here is the meaning of Most Holy; here shall I worship.

Most Holy

StephanieWright

Conway, United States

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flashfic

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desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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