An attempt at romantic prose poetry.
Skin against skin, a light brown against a dark brown. Melting together, merging together – coming together. Smell of skin and sweat. Sweat that leaves memories. Memories that haunt. When you walk across a crowded street, it hits you. And it haunts you to death.
You want to die but you also want to see the skin near the lip. The eyes of submission. The kiss of death. You want to see the point from up close. The point where chin turns to lip. The border of softness and deep insecurities.
Your trembling lips and eyes that gaze within my soul. As fingers find a new language. They discover places that didn’t exist a second ago. And now those places are milestones that will be crossed every time.
Milestones that are forgotten. And tucked away, covered and lost. An open road of numbing pain. Of your absence and your smell. The stray smell on the highway. That keeps you tied to the memory. The memory of the first kiss and the moment right before it. The eyes fixed at lips, trembling lips, skin and the line that blurs right before it turns into a memory.