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Faces&Voices


AN ANTHOLOGY
OF VERSE, PROSE

AND ART

by
the Composition
for Honours Class,
Howard University,
2001-200
2

  Contents
  Authors & Artists
  Home

E. R. BRAITHWAITE
Professor

Faces & Voices 4
Faces & Voices 5



Coffee
Richar A Fields, Jr
Decatur, Georgia - Accounting

        We sat across from each other, sipping coffee, barely aware of the other diners in the crowded restaurant. The meal had been excellent, brook trout in a Provencal butter sauce, pan fried string beans, crisp and juicy, a mixed green salad and a fruity Vouvray white wine. I was amused at the way the wine mellowed him to the point where he was ready to laugh at my most absurd inanities.
        Everything was going so magnificently well. The conversation was stimulating and provocative, the dimly lit room was set off perfectly by a burning candle between our plates, and there was a romantic ambiance encircling us, created by the superb pianist softly strumming sultry notes in the background. With each breath I drew, the subtle fragrance of his Curve cologne became more and more intoxicating, lifting me higher and  higher, my heart beating faster and faster.
        Then he looked me directly in the eyes, placed my hand in between his palms, and simply held it there in exquisite captivity while a drop of liquid rolled down the trunk of the candle… down, down, down, slowing until it froze and became concealed in a cloak of wax. For an ephemeral eternity, he gazed into my eyes, looked at them, studied them, while the flickering flame of the fire blazed and reflected into his auburn pupils.
        Suddenly, I felt my face being drawn in closer to his, as if by some invisible magnetic force. The pull was so strong, and I was definitely not resisting. Halfway across the table our faces met, and I could feel his breath tickling the skin on my lips, enticing them to come closer. And they did. Our lips became intertwined, interconnected, and I felt the heat in my body rise until it was unbearable. It burned, hotter and hotter, until I felt as if I were on fire, and I abruptly broke the bond between us, emitting a piercing scream.
        The entire time we were kissing I hadn’t even noticed the candle burning below us, and my chin had been singed by the fire. The scream endured and then died off as I winced in pain. However, I refused to let this frantic episode destroy our evening.
        I moved the candle aside and we continued where we had left off. Once again I thrust my head towards him, eyes closed, lips pursed, until I felt him begin to massage my face with his tongue in quick strokes. He licked and licked, all over my face, my nose, my cheeks, everywhere, until my face was wet and sticky with saliva.
        •          •          •          •          •         •          •        •         •         •
        I opened my eyes and found myself laying in the darkness. I was completely covered in sheets in the midst of my bedroom, and I could just barely make out the furry silhouette of Mocha (my feline companion) hovering above me, working me over with his thick, pasty tongue.
        It had all been a dream. A wonderful, passionate, and vivid dream, but still just a dream.
I continued to lay there in anguish, as Mocha licked my face, wishing that my mind would cease to play such horrible tricks on my body at nighttime.


© 2002 Howard University
(First Published in limited print edition, An Anthology of Verse, Prose & Art, by the Composition for Honours Class, Howard University, Spring 2002. Professor E.R. Braithwaite)
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