Oystercatchers.

the blinds are open, red-yellow-green of the stop lights cast soft glows into my bedroom. i listen to the sound of the creaky upstairs floor boards, thinking about all the people who have lived in this old building in the past hundred years. who must have loved the bricks when they were still red, the single women, widows and which wall they had pushed their bed against, the nurses boarded, overseen by catholic nuns, going through school and spending the nights alone, right where i am now.

did those young women lay against the mattress, as i do? back curved slightly, pillow beneath my shoulder blades, knees bent up under the loose top sheet. did they let their mind wander to the young doctors they work beside, fascinated by his gentle touch, the tendons and bones under his skin? dreaming of those wide thumbs running over their curved hip bones as his fingers reach to the small of her back? do they curl their toes in the blanket they kicked down, letting the cold air chill their bare breasts, thinking of kissing the nape of her neck, their redheaded peer? how it would feel to spread her blushing lips and run their tongue against her excited clit, hands groping her soft thighs as moans escape both of their mouths?

(unfinished, i can’t write, too cliche, it all sounds the same, bah)