Shereino

Let us not dwell on the hurt.

“Instead, let me tell you of him, and his beauty as he stands there in the light, sun cascading off his wide and muscle-rounded chest, and drawing my gaze to the swollen nipples that guide my mouth to him, and would act as a beacon in the darkest night should I have need. Let me tell you of the even and lightly golden skin that slides like a satin across his frame, and the heat of it that smoulders even now at the tips of my fingers. Let me tell you of his hair, a chopped and golden brush beneath my palms. And let me tell you of his eyes. Murky grey ice chips that somehow fire into blue as the sun of the afternoon catches them. Or I could tell you of his arms, strong enough to hold me down or hold me up, or lift me and have me as he wishes, in whatever manner and position he desires. Let me tell you of his lips.”