Pen us a poem of precisely 44 words (not counting the title), including some form of the word contour.
The Touch
In the darkness
he ran his hand
along her body
feeling the contours
how each concave drop
was followed
by a bulbous rise
hidden from sight
for only his hands
to explore
as she lay
still
quiet
waiting for it all
to finally end
©2024 CBialczak

oh no! I was really enjoying this – and then – that ending! 😦
~David
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sorry, my head-space deceived you
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Oh! I wasn’t expecting that from the sensual start, and it makes me wonder how bad this situation was.
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I never plan the ending and it just seemed like she didn’t want to be there any more. Nothing terribly sinister.
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Good to know!
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There’s a position I don’t envy. For a sensual start, this took a surprising tone.
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Yes I don’t know what made me go there but it just seemed like she was annoyed by it all…
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I’ve been that woman. I’m sure lots of other women have as well. Thank you for giving voice to the experience.
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We all carry things with us!
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Christine, A troubling write of touch endured rather than welcomed.
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Christine, this seems born of trauma – a very sad poem…
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So many levels to it I suppose
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The discomfort is palpable. I hope it ends soon, so she can begin to heal.
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I love that word – palpable!
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🙂
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That’s a difficult read. Happens too often I think. (K)
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right!?!?!?!
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Echoing what Bjorn said, I had a very different impression of their relationship at the beginning versus the end of the poem. Excellently written!
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Thank you!
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A very sinister poem.
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It started so sensual and nice, but the end made me think that it he was far from welcomed to her bed.
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My only response was that I didn’t plan on going there but that was the path it took
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