IT'S THE HOUR where time sets, the sun just above the horizon, and everything in the immediate environment is filled with the warmest rays of yellow and red, with orange in between.
the shade of blue that matches the sky is almost completely erased, faded into a gray that is too quiet to see, the sun is soft with a filter of haze because it daydreams and whispers of a warmth that will sleepily depart only to return again the next day.
"damn, you're fine as hell."
eloquent, elegant, courtship at its best.
tawny brown's brown eyes meet platinum and diamond encrusted teeth that reflect the rays of the sunset. a golden mouth with full pink lips.
he looks at her with light brown bedroom eyes and even lighter skin, dusted with just a bit of warmth. freckles and waves and a wife beater. she simplifies him to some pretty boy with tattoos up to his neck and an unusually gorgeous face. actually six foot-something with a high sex appeal but who really cares after all?
she's just observant, not interested.
"you know you're gorgeous as hell, right?"
because he's not sure if she's aware that her beauty is just that stunning; she looks at him like she's taking offense and he can't understand why this girl painted in sunset pink and the deepest brown would look so pissed. he is only trying to give a compliment but maybe it is unwanted.
sincerely he is shocked by this beauty, this deep dark beauty with a clean face and soft brows and long black lashes and glossy, heavy lips. the type of beauty that is stamped on you when you leave because you can't think of anyone else that could possess something this unique and astonishing and wonderful.
the type of beauty that you compare to someone else who is almost equivalent to such a face, who is almost as exquisite, who is almost as eye-engaging but is not. that someone else is so close yet worlds away.
the type of beauty that has no competitors and will never have any, he's never seen a universal beauty until now.
the wind plays with a piece of her long hair. it dances between them and almost touches his shoulder, yet she does not respond. she just looks at him with brows furrowed, obviously displeased. she fans herself lazily and the light sprinkle of sweat slipping out of her pores is making her sheer white dress see-through in all the right places. she's modelesque, five nine if he could guess, a long legged mirage in that mini dress, and he feels blessed for the first time in a long while to be attending a university.
because damn, they don't make em like this no more.
But that attitude.
his forehead wrinkles, "ain't you gonna say thank you?"
"I ain't gonna say nothing." She replies, voice as heavy as her lips. then pushes past him and all but disappears.
when her car pulls off, the sky is a faded orange and blue and he trails after her car with his eye lines.
It is only fitting that someone that eye-catching, someone that physically attractive, should have a shitty disposition. there's a saying about books and covers.
"Bitch," he mutters, then tries to continue with his day, tries to study, tries to eat lunch, tries to watch tv, tries to sleep, tries to distract his mind from recalling such a face, body, vibe.
Miss Pretty and Sadiddy seems hellbent on living in his mind rent-free. He wants to forget but a face like hers is meant for haunting, a face that pretty is supposed to linger like the taste of a lollipop after the last lick.
He needs this girl to unbind him from her memory.
YOU ARE READING
GOLDEN MOUTH
Romance"what would you do if a mermaid washed onshore?" his dad would ask. "let her take me away."
