a line erased
By tigerlilly
It was a flannel-wrapped southern night, and the Yankee man did not yet know how warm a honeyed drawl could drip into his ear, drowning out the rifle-cracking sound of ice storms splitting sap-frozen trees. Wool trade blankets and patchwork quilts, then struck a deal with the cold air stealing in around the windowpanes; a chilling touch, if by mistake, the iron bed frame came in contact with skin aflame from fevered kisses head to toe, all through the hours. Flickering ash-grayed coals pierced the darkness with the sound of their breaking open to reveal their hearts of fire… and just a little tinder tossed on kindling laid would catch the seasoned oak and set it smoldering, sending smoking messages chimney bound. And in the glow of lamp light, kerosene scent mingling with another smell of earthy musk as the touch of work-worn hands caresses softly curving shapes… he has in mind thoughts to erase old tensions once embraced at a boundary called the Mason-Dixon line.all comments and critiques welcomed Written January 18th, 2002 © on Jan 18 2002 03:15 AM PST 10 • 0 • 16
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"It was a flannel-wrapped southern night,..."