Flash Fiction Friday,  microfiction


The impossibly pale skin of her dimpled backside glowed blue-gray beneath the soft night light entering the bedroom window. It looked, for all the world, like the moon itself: irregularly-shaped pools of shadow swirling across its wide canvas.

He lost himself in the colorless view, his fingers dancing across her cool skin. Imagining his fingers to be legs, their little feet leaving prints across the vast expanse of her cold dessert landscape, he visualized this tiny pioneer placing a flag at the rounded crest of her hip, claiming her fleshy territory for the country of his soul.

She stirred minutely beneath his touch, her movements creating a subtle breeze. A whisper reached his ear, like a secret sent across a canyon. Over and over, it reverberated into the darkness. He lifted his head and held his breath to hear her better.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Moonwalking,” he replied.

(150 words)

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