helium

fresh

 He has green eyes
I tilt my head
and imagine diving in malachite pools with him.
He wears a leather jacket
I do not think of the life taken for it
but for what I would give for him to wrap it around my shoulders
His skin is black with runes
My mother would not approve
but she is not here and his touch feels as indelible as his tattoos are
He carries a knife
I think of his fingers, pale and elegant,
and then of other things he hides in sheaths
He has a motorbike
It purrs under his caress
he rides it and I envy it its dark sleekness
He has the devil's freckles
I imagine that wickedness is beauty inverted
and by those standards, he is cruelly beautiful
He has dark brown hair
I think of chocolate
and then of him melting in my mouth
He has eyelashes that speak of eternity
They kiss his cheekbones when he sleeps
So do I