Cocksure

He had a tattoo that started (or ended) at that area right above his groin.

It was of a dragon or a snake (or whatever boys think is manly these days).

I asked him where it ended, and he smiled and said, "Would you like to find out?"

and I thought; what an obnoxious little fuck.

Well,
let's have a look, then.

Imprudence

You are,
All the Wednesdays in June
(And the Thursdays that follow).

You are, we are,
Juliet and Lancelot;
Not quite right,
But damned if we were wrong.

And, Goodness (goodness!) how the grass felt,
Wet against your back and mine.
Then and there;
Why, I almost loved you!

Until the sun reached in and,
Poked its finger down my throat.
And here we are, and here you are;

Disgusting,
But lovely, still.

The Sun

Ah, that warm afternoon in March!
When you take off your socks and
Tip-toe across marble floors,
Through the doorway; out to the sun.
And you tip-toe, once again; quick on your burning feet.

And how it glistened, how it shivered with that playful blow of wind;
Desire in its simplest form.
And you, with your trickling crimson flush;
Thrust yourself into the water
and
Surrender.

Helios, don't you know?
All she ever wanted was to melt into the sun.

The Boy

A definite mistake, I know.

But who cares? Maybe I want to be wrong. Maybe I like a boy who treats me like a wet sock and only ever kisses me when he wants to f—

So what?

The way his gaze felt on my back, it was cold and warm at once, and which was which I couldn't tell. He said he liked how his name sounded on my lips, and when I pointed out that he hadn't told me, he smiled and said that even he didn't know his own name.

Well, okay.

His hair was silver grey and down to his shoulders; beautiful, if there was ever a word to describe it. And when I stared for too long, he came closer and, with his fingers, slipped a strand into my mouth. It tasted like cigarettes and coconut and lime. And I thought, my god, never have I ever tasted something so absolutely...

Wrong.

The Fox

Sometimes I think I want to hide you somewhere where no one could ever find you; like a fox burying its prized possession. Then I fear I'd bury you too deep. So deep that even I wouldn't find you. But I would never, never stop looking; even if my nails were to break and fall, I would dig with my teeth, and my nose, and my paws—until everything, everything falls apart. And even then, I wouldn't stop.

And how could I? When you're somewhere, waiting.

Or are you hiding?

One

He asked if I've ever written about him before.

I told him I haven't. And though not entirely untrue; I failed to mention that, somehow, it feels as if I've been writing about him all along.

A ridiculous notion, in itself.

Even more so if you put into consideration that I've only met him last month.

Here you go, then.

Ever-spinning

Goodness, I love his voice!

And how it seeps through his nose. I love that meek whistle—that almost lisp—ssweet ssserenity, when he calls my name! I love the way he falters through his sentences, constantly fumbling for words. And how flustered he gets whenever he mispronounces the R in my name. Darling, you don't need to hide from me—

I am not them.

But you don't see that, do you?