Pastel

My fingertips graze down his arm leisurely, and I can feel the hairs on his arm stand to attention,almost as if a Sargent has called each of their individual names. His eyes remain closed, but I can see the movement beneath his eyelids. His breathing is smooth, and as I move my hand over his chest, I can feel the gentle current beneath my fingers. He is so beautiful, skin sprayed with milk chocolate freckles, the same color of his eyes, and that German split in the cartilage on the tip of his nose is so mesmerizing to me. I love his lips; those full, soft pink pillows lure me to him, and the voice that dribbles from them is so entrancing. He can calm the waves that are my feelings with just his universe-given sound. The strong nectarous words he whispers to me late at night over the phone are the endearments I need when I can no longer function.

His arms twitch unexpectedly before I realize that they are wrapped around me loosely. It that daze of his addictive warmth I feel my mind reaching serenity, and I exhale in length. He nuzzles his nose into my hair and does the opposite of me, breathing in the scent of pina-colada shampoo. “Beautiful,” he whispers in his half-asleep murmur. Now it is my hair’s turn to stand to attention. My heart almost vibrates with love for my inamorato as I lean up and press my lips to his slightly parted ones. I sense his attempt to smile amidst his sleep fog, but he is rendered unsuccessful and unconscious. I do not complain though. Observing his usually pinched features relaxed in a basic comatose from exhaustion is such a pure picture. His warm, shallow breaths fanning my face and his quiet snores are tranquilizing. Calloused fingers stroke the small of my back, and dark brown tendrils fall into his shut eyes.

He is my living piece of textured art, painted with delicate strokes and built to a rough sculpted design. Every pale color that encompasses his flesh, every angle that constructs the shape of him, and every dimension that makes him real is so deeply admired by me. We curl into each other, wrapped in the other’s arm. In our tangled-up true, innocent state. I find myself dozing away, melting into his warmth. My fair-skinned love. My pastel masterpiece.