Lust in Red

The below is written by a good friend of mine, Matt Rose.

Have a look at his blog; www.theamericanrose.blogspot.com

Her thin frame dressed in red, she was a vision of youthful lust and innocence wrapped up in the trimmings of black ribbon. My gaze and smile both swelled with pride as I watched her dance among the others, who, for some wordless reason, could never touch her grace. It wasn't only that she was beautiful. There was a freshness about her, an unspoiled wonder left unknown to a world that would seek to exploit it. And still, there was a strangeness about her. The way in which she was able to preserve herself was uncontrived, void of the common trickery of her fellow debutantes. There was no smoke and no show, and she was a bare stage with the curtain drawn. In nearly every thing that she did this could be seen: the way she talked, the way she sipped her sangria, the way she danced, the way she looked at me and held my hand; in all of this, there was something unseen that protected her, something that prevented the outside from getting in. It was only in the many hours of her presence that my fear became known to me: I wanted desperately for her to stay that way, a nameless treasure. She was like finding fresh water after months at sea, her skin quenched and smooth next to mine. And so sweet was the taste of her purity, so profound the knowing of her breath, that I may never go back to sea again.