Flash Fiction - "No More"

I try to wash you from my skin in the night air. The vile stench of you consists mostly of Japanese Cherry Blossom lotion the likes of which I gave my ex one time, because I thought that she would smell beautiful. She did. So do you, in that way that fragile things are beautiful. I shouldn't nuzzle into the pools of your clavicle anymore.

"Don't think about how it would taste, that lotion, under your quivering tongue."

Like the bitter silk of a lavender tea.

I pump my petals, urging myself forward through the drizzle which can only be perceived around the edges of Four A.M.'s nitid street lamps. The cool summer air touches me like I want to be touched. It slowly tugs at the sides of my clothing, the night's hands clutching to the cotton through its night terrors. And it nests itself on my breast.

I try to rid you forever from my skin, but can't with my senses ensnared.

"Don't think about what she did. Don't think about what you're doing."

I sit up a long time before going to bed thinking about my designated distraction, how convenience was a god at whose alter I knelt. Then, kicking off my shoes, I quoth "no more."

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door - only this, and nothing more."

Be that word our sign of parting,

Caleb

P.S. nitid - bright, lustrous