The Meal

Aperitif

His nose is rather Roman, masculine and well-built and well-deserved. The straight and jointed crown seems to drip down his grand and metal fin.
His eyes are brown - so brown, one cannot see the pupils, not that you are drawn to them. His eyes are wide and sharp. He can stare at you as though looking into your soul, and you can look back, as if staring into the face of god.
His hair is blond and falls down his slender head like spun gold. It seems soft and airy. I want to weave my hands through it and feel through the tundra of his head, and feel the velvet tangles that envelope it.
His ears are quaint and unstrapped. The hair flows around them.
His mouth is guarded by two thin and quiet pink lips. His smile of ice and fire seem to drive my soul mad, and troubles my quivering inhibition. He freezes you and scorns the next second with scorching blows. They never seem to part, these lips. His teeth hide, but on reveal they are white and strong; years of soft pain give him a powerful bite. His mouth rests like a crest on his face. His voice is smooth, yet each syllable jabs my mind. I cannot ignore him and I flinch. It rings out, each joke hits, his laugh is not hoarse, but a calm in the ears.
His head is laced with strong and bold features, his cheekbones are piercing, his jaw is cutting, his chin is jabbing.
From here flows the neck, muscular and smooth, no facial hair.
His shoulders are wide, great big logs like sturdy tree branches which under which I can rest. From here hang two great and bulky arms, lined with thousands of shooting arteries, no hair either.
Below lies the chest, the wide and lean body bares an array of undefined yet sensuous abs, and two great muscles flank his legs.
The tightness of his skin only increases, the hardness, caused by his swimmers' build, is magnificent.
He is an aperitif. Impossible for me to achieve, a fountain within me springs jealousy of the female who could take his heart. I cannot bare nor control the world around me, I cannot cease to love his face, to yearn for his body. His mere presence awakens a love and existential sorrow within me. He is an aperitif, and in this great meal of a life he has left an uncomfortably delicious and lingering taste.