John’s breath was like a warm gust of wind on his neck, the fingers clutching at his shirt like nettles, and Rodney just stood there, rooted to the spot.
Oh, wow. This was just gorgeous, like a prose poem, where the images transcend the words they're made of. Lovely.
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Date: 2006-01-18 05:03 pm (UTC)Oh, wow. This was just gorgeous, like a prose poem, where the images transcend the words they're made of. Lovely.