His lips are parted in such a way that I long for his tongue to dart out, if only to complete the image of perfection. It soon does, wetting the slightly chapped skin and I am complete.
I can almost see his breath in the air, coming out in short puffs, and God, I wish it was winter, so that his breath would show and linger and I would be able to view inside of him, even if it was only his breath and not his soul.
Never his soul.
But as it turns out, its summer time and I am trapped without his soul or even his breath to hold onto and save me, and Jesus, how could I ever thought I was complete?
The image of his tongue is perfection, but I want so much more, and I know why I cannot be saved.
What is more than perfection?
Nothing.
Except Chandler.
But his soul is not for my taking, and as he smiles up at her, kisses her, loves her, I tear my eyes from his lips and towards the sky, longing for winter.
YOU ARE READING
Joey&Chandler
أدب الهواةAll of these are one shots that I compiled and most of the stories here are not mine! CTTO!
