Maestro and Muse

It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Like an ember flaring amid August pine, the heat sealed her fate and opened her lips. Who knew a kiss could burn? Tequila and a wedge of lime followed by a shot of moonshine, quick and too smooth for her untried appetites, the world spun around her axis.

Then she asked, “When can we do that, again?”

He smiled–such a smile–with lips, teeth and the tip of his tongue… a warm-up of sorts, choral prelude to the best interludes she would ever know.

He called her his muse, and she named him her maestro.

–C. Green

Opening Line

*Flash fiction in response to this week’s Discover Challenge.*

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