Your ******* remind me of S-curves on a mountain highway. Like the curve of the windshield of a Lamborghini. Like the stick shift of a new Corvette. Your shoulders remind me of the breaking of a newly frozen ice cube tray. They are the tops of the pillars of your skinny arms. The flash of your blue bikini takes my mind away from your secret face. Its temperature tells of a moist nose making a puckered upper lip. I'm reminded of Cranberries songs. We should've met with your shirt on. The rim of your head tells of a hundred men who would swoon. No fat on you at all. Would you even care to look at me for one more moment? The roses of your eyes are not yet in full bloom. Your blonde highlight tips are like needles on my skin. Could I even give a hug that didn't give away my devotion?
blood rush to my inner thighs tip brushes light blue sky behind you deep blue ocean behind you three curves tell of your waist and your navel. as you stand in this shade eyes like gray clouds masking their brown color. "I don't really want you" she says with a sigh. "You cannot handle me, why tell a lie." "Most men only dream of me," with a Kawasaki Ninja in her eye. To press against her would sooth my nerves. Hard or soft its all just fantasy. Her body's arteries and veins so tightly coiled by her skin. I'm still here after ******: untouched and unfelt. I will always be that picture written in the story of your life. She will not let me love her. She just makes me stare.
A girl bathes in the sunlight in a Bright red bikini - the kind of red of some lipstick that caught your attention at the mall. **** the men passing her by, absorbing every detail of her body. Few have felt her touch, that glorious touch. The touch I’ve grown to hate with everything I keep bottled up inside. She likes to play jokes on a hopeful heart; stealing kisses from the lips of a boy, still learning to be a Man- an idea my father never taught me, not because of a lack of opportunity, but because he never figured it out himself. She played my mind like the piano keys she used to quell the reoccurring thoughts in her mind: those of self-abuse and insecurities. To feel wanted and loved, she uses the attention of those staring eyes as she bathes in ultra violet rays, questioning if the water is a comfy kind of cold, much like the X’s and O’s placed lovingly at the bottom of the note that ended years of dedication, years of forgetting our uncertainties.
Zero degrees couldn’t be colder than that.
Inspired by Mary Szybist's "Girls Overheard While Assembling a Puzzle."
Her lubricious bikini has full of criss- crossing fancy strings, the central idea indeed, seems to be not concealing any skin. when you pull at any one, the whole becomes undone, can you blame if the focus of the action shifts to other things?