tight silk ******* with the lilac bra to match,
cream coloured knee high socks.
a collection of classic rock on vinyl and a compliments jar covered in news articles.

too many celebrity perfumes, but a versace collection that makes her think of the beach;
peach smelling deoderant.

chapter books on the floor accompanied by hair ribbons of baby blue and cotton candy pink,
****** by Vladimir Nabokov laying near the juvinile pale legs of beautiful sixteen,
as she paints each toe nail red, pink, white.

almost naked body, remember her tight, fresh lace set
hair perfectly auburn, lips perfectly light coral
mouth slightly open
Led Zepplin playing.
hairspray and rose powder,
unlit vanilla candles and twilight scented creams
she smells faintly of Modern by Banana Repulic and her daddy's cigarettes.

silently waving, a flag of patriotism
the beautiful, elegant sixteen.

-part 1

conceptcollection

you know the look
the look
when you feel eyes on the side of your face
but you're not completely sure
so you turn
instantly catching them
looking
their addictive
ice blue eyes
staring
and then quickly they're gone
looking somewhere else
like the floor or  
out the window or
pretending to be deep in thought
but
you know that they've been looking
because you've caught them twice before

I always forget how big an impact a place can make  
arriving unknowingly
the hostel you never thought you'd miss
the people you didn't realise you loved
until you're back home
sitting on your bed
that same 7 year old bed
in a room where nothing has changed
and your parents say
"It's like nothing has changed"
but everything has
they filled something inside of you thats still full
and now you have to go back to the way things were
before them
and until the smells, laughter and midnight conversations have fully trickled out of you
you're miserable
because you miss that special place a whole lot

are we *****
       or lonely
               or both

there was something unfair about the morning after

freshly showered, I arrived at the breakfast table
I was late
your friend talked loudly with my sister about rugby and I had
to sit on a stool because all the other chairs had been taken
you never looked up from your plate

this was the first time you made me feel
      small and ordinary
like it wouldn't have mattered if it was me or not
that my honest skin and wet hair
displeased
maybe
disappointed you

you,
the boy who usually restored self confidence
kept your eyes on the glass you were asked to pour for me
and never looked at my face
but passed the juice across the table still

I ate in silence in the laughing room
waiting
trying to steal your eyes and share a smile
but you never looked

and by lunch
our flame was out

we kiss until our lips get chapped
we laugh until our eyes well up
and we can't breath
we want to do crazy things like
tell each other how we feel
and say I love you
out loud
I'll give you myself on a plate and say
eat me
and you taste  
and say
that even though
I'm not fully cooked
or smoking hot
can turn cold with time
and my meat is tough
but mostly sweet
I'm his favourite dish
dessert doesn't go to the stomach it goes to the heart
and we kiss
until our arms get heavy
our clothes fall off
and we kiss
until our lips get chapped