It's always been blurry, but I remember what happened next in a series of a dozen images.
1. The night sky all around me, dark and blank, lacking of light and stars
2. My my body resting two inches away from his, both bodies relaxed despite the bumpy tiles of the roof.
3. His dark hand sliding into mine, his thumb gliding over my dark fingernails.
4. Our clasped hands held directly to te left of my face, and his left hand laid flat on the roof directly to the right of my face, held there by his tan muscular arm.
5. His face 3 inches away from mine, his deep eyes boring into mine
6. His all-knowing smirk across his face as he holds himself above my body
7. My hand resting on his sharp jaw
8. His hand sliding through the roots of my dark hair
9. My limbs in my peripheral vision are blurry; mine but now part of him
10. His nose meeting mine, and his eyes fall shut.
11. Blackness, yet every color in the universe, when our lips slowly touch.
12. The sky once again, now full of glistening stars.
YOU ARE READING
My Complexion
PoetryEmotions don't come in just black and white, or in all the grays in between. Emotions are every color you've ever seen, and even the ones you can't. Sometimes they're the colors you can't imagine, and the color is simply the feeling. Like that color...
