eyesackback:

I won’t ever forget the way sunlight plays off your face and turns you to solid gold when you sleep. Nor will I forget the way I lay in bed all day, numb, after I left and you didn’t chase me. You’re like a painting, full of light, natural warmth: perfect in its imperfections. I find myself tracing the outlines of your face, greedily soaking up the resplendence of your form.

            I like to smell the clean, fresh scent you wear in the random places it rubs off; a pillow, a tee shirt finds itself entangled in my limbs, pressed to my face. It’s not the warm, heady scent of your skin, but the smell of your meticulous way- the smell of a shoelace double-knotted, or a carefully buttoned shirt- the smell of you all cleaned up. I love it, and I love you.

            Some days, I see you in the way the breeze blows a paper to the ground, the trees, my own fingers; I feel you in the melody of smooth jazz, all around my hips and inside of my skin. On the days when you aren’t there, I stack the extra pillows along the cold side of my bed and encircle myself with the blankets, trying to recreate the warmth. Somehow, nothing will compare to the feel of your rough-skinned, impossibly warm, gentle paws or the sinewy arms that seem to meld to my own flesh as we sleep. Your hair, wiry and courser than mine, grasps at tendrils of my own, pulling them lightly, entangling them in itself: perhaps it understands.

            As we lay here now, enjoying the morning’s rare silence, interrupted occasionally by a car’s engine in the distance, I watch your closed eyelids, afraid to move a muscle. I have the distinct feeling that, despite the heat collecting in the crevices between our bodies, if I pull away, I’ll shatter your perfect sleep. Is it perfect at all?

Surely it must be perfect. Your face has the look of a lake of silver at midnight- undisturbed, luminous, and impossibly peaceful. The sunlight fights its way through the slatted, white blinds to land in gorgeous, bronze stripes across your chest. I want, more than anything, to dive in to one of those stripes and bury myself in your heart, deep, so I’ll be sure the feelings stay. It’s comparable to a thousand tiny flames that dance the can-can every time you give me that look. The black circles of your pupils are encircled by warm, dark, velvety brown, and the sooty eyelashes far too thick for a boy (you never were conventional). They’re the type of eyes that turn steely in seconds, boil in minutes- today they are fuzzy, blinking languidly at the luminous intruder that coats their lids.

I stretch myself as a cat would, feeling the pull of muscles stiff from sleeping intertwined as we do. The eyes follow my feline movements, traveling first over the long, taut lines of my legs, then to the curved planes of my stomach, chest, and neck, only to meet my own eyes. You smile slowly as maple sap, dripping lackadaisically into a bucket. Appreciatively, you gaze at me once again, the pads of your fingers exploring the gooseflesh of my lower back, and lean in for a proper good morning. Like a moth to a flame, I am drawn to you. The way our skin brushes against each other, the tiny golden hairs on my lower back brushing against the wiry black ones wreathing your belly button, is electrifying. You are to me what color is to the Earth, and every day I stare in to those warm, deep brown eyes is another blessing.

I wonder sometimes, as I stand on my balcony and take my smoke, the breeze ruffling my unruly curls and rushing in at all the spaces left even slightly uncovered by clothing, if you think this way about me. If I am your own set of constellations covered by bone, muscle, and skin- you are mine, most definitely. Right now, in this moment of sunlight and bated breath, the heat nearly unbearable but the thought of breaking your silence still more so, it doesn’t seem questionable. But behind those brown eyes, there are secrets that I may never know, held in the brown pools of warmth, contained far from the fingers of my prying psyche. I suppose, for now, I will just have to trust.

Guys I used to WRITE!