The fabric flowed softly between her fingers, all nine yards of it, as she carefully wrapped it around her frame. The pleats were perfected by darkly henna’d hands, the deep red
(She would liken it to raspberries at the height of summer.)
and cream
(This, she found, reminded her of the fresh milk she drank as a child at her Grandfather’s farm.)
creased into measured lines.
The golden bangles on her wrist would chime with every movement, singing a song that foreshadowed the binding ceremony that was to come.
the touch of my old pajamas, the feeling when my legs are freshly shaven, the feel of her hands in mine, the most beautiful mac and cheese, the feel of her hair between my fingers
Silk representing in my mind delicate, smooth, rich and beautiful. How many things left in this world can be called those things? Our experiences are raw and real, imperfect…anything but smooth. Yet beauty still exists.Our experiences are still rich.
Silk was the trade market of the Ancient Chinese dynasty Shang.It was expensive and at high demand during those periods.The silk was only sold in China because they were the only ones who have the skill to use silkworms as a source of cloth
The strands wrapped around her face, criss-crossed her eyes; it failed to blind her, but hampered her vision enough that she had to rely on hearing alone to tell her where he was.
A bitch of day. Willie loosened his tie and shuffled, at last with a little enthusiasm, down the south end of Bourke Street past the Seven Eleven and souvlaki bar. Lizzy would be waiting for him. Tender, ripe, delicious Lizzy with her pale blue eyes and vicious humour, the dead calm in the centre of his chaotic sea. He pushed through the gate just as Bailey was leaving – the fat Silk from Camperdown with a penchant for bridles and horsewhips. They made a silent acknowledgement on the footpath. Missy was still readjusting her hair. Willie always arrived unannounced and yet she always seemed to expect him. She reached out for his hand. ‘Now. Where were we?’, she purred.
let me feel your skin
like silk
against the brown paper bag
of my face
of my soul
let me feel your skin like silk
let me feel your love
like the softest smoothest
scarf
too tight
but not tight enough
The silk worms were nestled in the cut up mulberry leaves, in a bamboo basket, and hung near the cooking fire in the kitchen. Every time Pheng opened the basket to add more leaves, the silk worms seemed to have doubled in size. Grandmother was happy. “We’ll soon be able to make the silk thread.” Pheng was excited to see how grandmother would do this.
ooohh, silk comes from these little tiny milkweeds, at least I think its they are called milkweek and then something happens and then something happens and silk is created they are white
It’s wrapped up in my hands and threaded through my fingers this curious ribbon I’ve found. I don’t know exactly how it got here. I let the knots and bindings slip down as I gaze up at the air vent. I’m told there are ceiling goblins that hunger after silk. So it is to be as these things will. Twisted ribbon is an unmistakable signal mischief’s been afoot.
Her nightgown bunched up around here while she slept on the couch. She slept hard, ungracefully, her legs unshaven. She’ll be like that all day, all night, waking up in the late hours for a cigarette and nighttime tv. she did her best.
“Her skin was soft as silk,” she wrote before crumpling up the binder paper in her left fist and tossing it into the nearest wastebasket. Bah. “Soft as silk.” Why did everyone like using that? Holly was sure that human skin was not the same as silk texture-wise. If anything, skin had bumps and grooves and hills and valleys. That seemed better than comparing it to a piece of cloth.
I looked down at my dress and rubbed the silk between my fingers. It sounded much less smooth than it felt. The hard scratch of noise contrasted the soft pink and the gentle sheen. My heart was plummeting fast even though I had every reason to be happy.
Softness, it had to be somewhere in the thicket of memories too painful to revisit. Silky skin against mine, sensations sometimes enough to will me into amnesia.
The rope tightened. His jaw strained against the binding. It would be a slow death, but he never wanted to go any other way. Who wouldn’t want to be hanged over a pit of lava filled with lava-resistant piranhas while slowly being electrocuted? Die in style, he always said. Silk rope for the noose just means that his self esteem wouldn’t die with him.
I love silk clothing. It flows so well in the summer months. I love brightly colored silk fabrics. I like the way they move. Silk stockings are also useful
Hey, Ryan W.C……. Who on earth is Todd. Now if you said Marco polo, who navigated the entire continent of asia, THAT would make sense. But Todd, Who the Heck is Todd????
AGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! I got Silk Again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Who decides who gets what word. If I ever Find out who does, I will DESTROY him!!!!!!!!!!…………..Kidding:D.
I have got the word Silk Like, 5 times. Seriously??? Have a bit of variety, who cares about silk, why not have the word… Alien cyborgs, or Disturbed Tyranosaurus Rex’s, Whatever guys, See ya soon.
I like Silk…… I know what you are thinking, Pew Pew Kitty is the worst writer ever, well I DONT CARE. I like Silk, SOOOOO, I like silk, that’s all I Have to say about silk,
The silk was soft like a blanket, rapped and weaved to perfection in an amazing Baroque Cloak.
My pleasure to see it on my Cousin was to no Degree, She looked so good in it I immediately wanted to get one for myself. So I did, And I walked down the streets of cold New York, wearing Matching coats with my Cousin.
silk reminds me of butterflies, or spiders or fabric, soft silky shiny fabric. I don’t know how it’s made, but I do know that I like how it feels. It also reminds me of almond milk. haha…I am just typing. I messed up the previous answer bu not filling in my email, but this is just a test anyway. How much can I get written/typed in 2 minutes, not just one? I wonder….and I am about to find out. What is the truth in that? what happens after I hit submit? Am I able to print my answer? We shall see in a few short moments.
Silk like worms, like fabric. I’ve read about the process of creating silk and actually it’s quite mean to the silkworms. I don’t remember any specifics but I remember thinking, “Oh, well now I can’t wear any silk now because I’m just going to feel bad.” But silk on your skin, there’s nothing like it. Soft, sensual, sweet. All sorts of S words.
The material slipped between her fingers as she lightly grazed the clothing. It was all so soft and lacy and… it felt inappropriate to be here. She tried not to make eye contact with the sales associates, as if they knew what her intentions were. She was in a lingerie shop, so it wasn’t as if it was a secret in the first place.
The curtains were new, and, entering my room, they were the first things I saw. Slanted light arrowed through the windows, four panes that illuminated four rectangles of yellowish light that appeared to burn directly into the dusty wooden floor.
The traders from the east brought with them fine goods. The finest of them all was the spools of silk. Todd had never seen such exquisite things in all of his travels.
Soft and precious, like the beautiful silk weavings of ancient women worlds away, no less mysterious to me than the stars in the night sky, her hand brushed against mine; the poignant breath and the whisper in her eye cried into our shared moment of silence, and then was gone.
silk
Silk AGAIN. that’s it, I quit. Bye guys. See you later.
The fabric flowed softly between her fingers, all nine yards of it, as she carefully wrapped it around her frame. The pleats were perfected by darkly henna’d hands, the deep red
(She would liken it to raspberries at the height of summer.)
and cream
(This, she found, reminded her of the fresh milk she drank as a child at her Grandfather’s farm.)
creased into measured lines.
The golden bangles on her wrist would chime with every movement, singing a song that foreshadowed the binding ceremony that was to come.
the touch of my old pajamas, the feeling when my legs are freshly shaven, the feel of her hands in mine, the most beautiful mac and cheese, the feel of her hair between my fingers
Silk representing in my mind delicate, smooth, rich and beautiful. How many things left in this world can be called those things? Our experiences are raw and real, imperfect…anything but smooth. Yet beauty still exists.Our experiences are still rich.
Sex. That’s what I have to start with and I’m not too happy with it because, ooo, people having sex, tightly gripping on red silk sheets BORING
even having that sex would be boring. What a performance. Amazing sex is boring. Boo! Next! I’m a bit of a critic lately I guess. Well, FUCK EM.
Silk was the trade market of the Ancient Chinese dynasty Shang.It was expensive and at high demand during those periods.The silk was only sold in China because they were the only ones who have the skill to use silkworms as a source of cloth
The strands wrapped around her face, criss-crossed her eyes; it failed to blind her, but hampered her vision enough that she had to rely on hearing alone to tell her where he was.
A bitch of day. Willie loosened his tie and shuffled, at last with a little enthusiasm, down the south end of Bourke Street past the Seven Eleven and souvlaki bar. Lizzy would be waiting for him. Tender, ripe, delicious Lizzy with her pale blue eyes and vicious humour, the dead calm in the centre of his chaotic sea. He pushed through the gate just as Bailey was leaving – the fat Silk from Camperdown with a penchant for bridles and horsewhips. They made a silent acknowledgement on the footpath. Missy was still readjusting her hair. Willie always arrived unannounced and yet she always seemed to expect him. She reached out for his hand. ‘Now. Where were we?’, she purred.
let me feel your skin
like silk
against the brown paper bag
of my face
of my soul
let me feel your skin like silk
let me feel your love
like the softest smoothest
scarf
too tight
but not tight enough
“You do not seriously have silk pajamas.”
“Should I. Should I not have those?”
“Oh my God you are a STEREOTYPE! You are a stereotypical rich boy.”
“They’re comfortable!”
“They’re ostentatious!”
“Guess I know what I’m getting you for your birthday, then.”
“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE.”
my love soaked in silks worth more then el sol. my heart. my world. so smooth and fine. how could something so simple be so divine?
The silk worms were nestled in the cut up mulberry leaves, in a bamboo basket, and hung near the cooking fire in the kitchen. Every time Pheng opened the basket to add more leaves, the silk worms seemed to have doubled in size. Grandmother was happy. “We’ll soon be able to make the silk thread.” Pheng was excited to see how grandmother would do this.
Say silk once. say silk twice. Say silk three times. Say silk four times. Now what do Cows drink?
ooohh, silk comes from these little tiny milkweeds, at least I think its they are called milkweek and then something happens and then something happens and silk is created they are white
It’s wrapped up in my hands and threaded through my fingers this curious ribbon I’ve found. I don’t know exactly how it got here. I let the knots and bindings slip down as I gaze up at the air vent. I’m told there are ceiling goblins that hunger after silk. So it is to be as these things will. Twisted ribbon is an unmistakable signal mischief’s been afoot.
Her nightgown bunched up around here while she slept on the couch. She slept hard, ungracefully, her legs unshaven. She’ll be like that all day, all night, waking up in the late hours for a cigarette and nighttime tv. she did her best.
It wove it’s way up towards her heart,
like silk, so soft,
So delicate
It wove it’s way up towards her neck
the silk, so soft
So delicate
It twisted into a knot around her neck
like silk, so strong
so intricate
It twisted her up and she lay dead
like silk, so strong
so lifeless
“Her skin was soft as silk,” she wrote before crumpling up the binder paper in her left fist and tossing it into the nearest wastebasket. Bah. “Soft as silk.” Why did everyone like using that? Holly was sure that human skin was not the same as silk texture-wise. If anything, skin had bumps and grooves and hills and valleys. That seemed better than comparing it to a piece of cloth.
I looked down at my dress and rubbed the silk between my fingers. It sounded much less smooth than it felt. The hard scratch of noise contrasted the soft pink and the gentle sheen. My heart was plummeting fast even though I had every reason to be happy.
I don’t know a lot about silk, I know that is so good for clothers and it is a good fabrica, very fancy , it is all that I know.
Softness, it had to be somewhere in the thicket of memories too painful to revisit. Silky skin against mine, sensations sometimes enough to will me into amnesia.
The rope tightened. His jaw strained against the binding. It would be a slow death, but he never wanted to go any other way. Who wouldn’t want to be hanged over a pit of lava filled with lava-resistant piranhas while slowly being electrocuted? Die in style, he always said. Silk rope for the noose just means that his self esteem wouldn’t die with him.
I love silk clothing. It flows so well in the summer months. I love brightly colored silk fabrics. I like the way they move. Silk stockings are also useful
Hey, Ryan W.C……. Who on earth is Todd. Now if you said Marco polo, who navigated the entire continent of asia, THAT would make sense. But Todd, Who the Heck is Todd????
AGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! I got Silk Again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Who decides who gets what word. If I ever Find out who does, I will DESTROY him!!!!!!!!!!…………..Kidding:D.
I have got the word Silk Like, 5 times. Seriously??? Have a bit of variety, who cares about silk, why not have the word… Alien cyborgs, or Disturbed Tyranosaurus Rex’s, Whatever guys, See ya soon.
I like Silk…… I know what you are thinking, Pew Pew Kitty is the worst writer ever, well I DONT CARE. I like Silk, SOOOOO, I like silk, that’s all I Have to say about silk,
The silk was soft like a blanket, rapped and weaved to perfection in an amazing Baroque Cloak.
My pleasure to see it on my Cousin was to no Degree, She looked so good in it I immediately wanted to get one for myself. So I did, And I walked down the streets of cold New York, wearing Matching coats with my Cousin.
Her hair was a smooth as silk, any man who has felt her hair will fall in love.
silk reminds me of butterflies, or spiders or fabric, soft silky shiny fabric. I don’t know how it’s made, but I do know that I like how it feels. It also reminds me of almond milk. haha…I am just typing. I messed up the previous answer bu not filling in my email, but this is just a test anyway. How much can I get written/typed in 2 minutes, not just one? I wonder….and I am about to find out. What is the truth in that? what happens after I hit submit? Am I able to print my answer? We shall see in a few short moments.
Silk like worms, like fabric. I’ve read about the process of creating silk and actually it’s quite mean to the silkworms. I don’t remember any specifics but I remember thinking, “Oh, well now I can’t wear any silk now because I’m just going to feel bad.” But silk on your skin, there’s nothing like it. Soft, sensual, sweet. All sorts of S words.
The silk was draped over her skin, and she smoothed down the bumps, fingering the frayed edges. It seemed to kiss her.
The material slipped between her fingers as she lightly grazed the clothing. It was all so soft and lacy and… it felt inappropriate to be here. She tried not to make eye contact with the sales associates, as if they knew what her intentions were. She was in a lingerie shop, so it wasn’t as if it was a secret in the first place.
The curtains were new, and, entering my room, they were the first things I saw. Slanted light arrowed through the windows, four panes that illuminated four rectangles of yellowish light that appeared to burn directly into the dusty wooden floor.
The traders from the east brought with them fine goods. The finest of them all was the spools of silk. Todd had never seen such exquisite things in all of his travels.
The silk stockings covered her legs with a satiny shine. The silk was a rare commodity, only the rich could afford it. She was by no means rich
i love the feel of the silk on my skin. its so smooth, soft and cool. its a flowy material.
i love silk saris.
The soft pull of silk around her wrists was almost cruel in it’s caress. Something in her broke, and she twisted, kicked, and spit to deter him.
Soft and precious, like the beautiful silk weavings of ancient women worlds away, no less mysterious to me than the stars in the night sky, her hand brushed against mine; the poignant breath and the whisper in her eye cried into our shared moment of silence, and then was gone.