Your features were traced in charcoal,
Not ink.
I wore jeans and a t shirt with a corset primed to the paint in the color of your eyes underneath it.
Six intricate links fasten at the back instead of two;
awaiting your fumbling fingers for more jokes of
“you could practice on me anytime”.
I wanted you to take your time so I upped my own game.
Locks of freshly shampooed hair fell on my shoulders;
Carpet under bare feet grounded me as much as the warmth of your hand around mine does-
The smell of your cologne on my bedsheets is my favorite muse.
Fingertips brush through brown curls as soft laughter presses past my lips and onto yours-
uninvited and honest in shared breaths,
the dog whining at the door as if he’s offended by your lack of attention.
(He probably is.)
Soft light scintillated from the far wall as my eyes met yours.
Your features were traced in charcoal, not ink-
And I’m in no rush to finish the drawing.
