Inkblot's picture

This is about the first man I ever had a crush on (that I realized for what it was), the choreographer for the school play last year.


The lines of your hands are clear
Elegant and definite
You gesture to the people listening attentively,
Your hands carve the substance of your words
Shaping pictures in the air in front of you,
Pulling music from the stillness as your fingers play across
A thousand instruments you have conjured in the space before you

I think of the magic your hands could work across my skin
The contours of my face taking new life in your caress
The thin muscle of my shoulders growing tense and slackening beneath your fingers
,The strong lines of your palms tracing themselves anew over the curve of my neck,
Your adept touch sensitive to my trembling
My lips pressed to your palm in reverent tenderness

Your face is dynamic
Old-fashioned handsome, bright eyes and noble features
The faintest ghost of a beard brushed across your cheeks
Your lips are curved and soft, constantly moving as you guide your pupils
Your voice rising and falling in elegant patterns, the words mere catalysts
As your eyes flash in anger, and your voice swells like a symphony
Crashing into a fiery calm, your gallant jaw clenched
As the emotion subsides and your features are once more clear and perfect

I imagine tracing my lips along the edges of your noble forehead
Running my hands over the faint stubble that shadows your rugged jaw
The icy blue of my eyes meeting the fire of yours and melting into your powerful gaze
The soft Renaissance curve of your lips pressed roughly against mine in startling violence and passion
As the fire behind your handsome face smolders over my smooth skin and melts it for your shaping
The hardness of your jaw or the delicate contour of an eyelash deciding my fate
As I trace the lines in the skin of your face, begging you for tenderness

Your form is strong
Your legs long and well-formed, stepping deftly through the world you inhabit
An understated dance, elegant and fascinating
Your arms are powerful and refined
Subtle in their suggestion of protection for those you welcome into them
Broad shouldered, you stand with the authority of a general
The delicate range of motion belies the strength with which you hold your ground

In late-night dreams your long and powerful legs are tangled with my own, so fragile in comparison
Your arms twine about my waist, encircling me fiercely
Clutching me with something like fear to lose me, mingled with desire
The faceted muscles of your shoulders contracting as I sketch patterns over them with my slender fingers
Your chest heaving and undulating beneath the hesitating caress of my lips
The power of your body simultaneously in thrall to me and holding me prisoner

You, my mentor, it is doubtful we will meet again, for the lesson is long since finished
You, my lover, remain in my head forever more


underage_thinker's picture

Wow. This is brilliant.

Wow. This is brilliant. Amazing. I wish I could write like this....

Icarus's picture

Gorgeous... These gots


These gots peanuts and soap in 'um!