She tasted the sweetness of menthol.
Tendrils escaped parted lips,
Heat filtering down her tongue,
Unlike 43% ethanol.
Blue Ice, he whispered.
She nodded at the glaring emeralds
Watching the stick move to his lips
Her lungs hitched, simmered.
Exchanging liquid smoke,
She fought ensuing emotions
Love. Hatred. Devotion. Disgust.
Feelings she would revoke.
Later she would think twice,
When anyone lit a death stick
Or smelled like menthol.
Memories of Blue Ice.
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Katie Marie, Horror Enthusiast & Writer
Just another blog of random thoughts.
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Interesting description!
Thesaurus is my best friend 😛
I like the line “feelings she would revoke.” Of course I was expecting invoke, or at least had that in the back of my mind. I love being caught off guard by language, as you do here. That line is heavy with questions. Why revoke them? What would the it look like when she did? An effective and haunting tone. Nice!
Your comment ended up in my Spams for some weird reason hence not replying.
Thank you for your kind words. 🙂