24 hours later...

022005

So there's this girl. and I met her. and this is what I wrote one day after seeing her. If its necessarily what I feel, I'm not sure; but I'm slightly infatuated...
...

[Camille]

she came (almost... no jk, start over)

she came wrapped in dark olive and shimmering in wrinkled aqua satin and black lace flowers, outlined by pinstripes and gold foil. i was taken by her warmth and her frosted spectacles. and so relieved that i didn't look no fool.

"snazzy" she said, as she looked me up and down.

for a second, i couldn't find my voice; my initial alarm lingered like a mouthful of peanut butter until I managed to squeak out that she looked great, which she did.

as she turned to climb the stairs, i caught a glimpse of her gradient colored wings; a sprite with Niagara-dammed vibrancy, no wonder she could fly; no wonder she was fly. I was immediately enamored with her carefully decorated body, her slightly nervous but infectious laugh. she smiles when i smile.

her room is warm. it smells of burnt musk, cocoabutter, and papaya. a small thigh high bookshelf contains poetry, inspiration, cultural criticism, and classic literature. her gallery glows from two red candles in the corner, staged atop a tv adjusted for a disciplinary timeout. photos of nudity, friends, and former homes adorn the left of a window overlooking a roof alley, while a mixed media piece by Yoshi hangs on the right. A poem brushed in gold marks the head wall, ending in "between our hearts."
...

there she stands, her cute smile staring pensively into a wardrobe, hunting for comfort amidst visual delight. she carefully wraps her head with two loops and four knots and slips into flannel pjs and a tanktop. i peek and dig what i see: smooth red undies, mocha skin, luscious breasts. [shrug...]

we adjourn to the crispness of her duve and explore our senses. sounds of serenity escape through loose bloodrushed lips and short breaths as she becomes a canvas for my palate. painting earth-sized calligraphy with the brushing of her earth-toned flesh, my lips graze the darkened depths of her rounded valleys, the stillness of her smooth open plains. navigating through stormy currents and ebbing desert sand we shivver with the aftershocks of thunderclaps as lightning sparks between our sweaty contact.

bashfully honest, "I haven't let anyone touch me in.. months and months and months..."

...

24 hours later, my sweater has locked the scent of her bed in its knit; her smell has bonded with my skin, pervading my nervousness.
24 hours later, i feel her piercings between my lips. i see her painted body floating above my face like a geometric muse, her permanently inked curves embedded on my eyes - every stroke, every inch.
24 hours later
24 hours later
i want just one more hour later,
just once more