distance (part twenty)

Another one with curls.
"Prettier curls than mine, I might add," she said, a slightly covetous lilt in her voice.

You're pretty. I'd love to lightly trace your zygomatic arches, but I'm afraid if I let my fingers stray anywhere else, in just the slightest, they'd get cut.

Your eyes are the color of the ocean waves I could let pull my legs out from under me and tug me out to sea. They are intense.

The crush I was always hesitant about.
The one with whom I would never make complete sense;
      an equation whose answer is an irrational number.

Those lost puppy eyes have, once again, adopted a startling nature.
I'd love to get a look at your bare shoulder blades as you stretched your arms out to their full length. Lucifer, did you fall with your wings, lifeless, or did they shear them and file them before your Father pushed you off the edge?

You are nice to have around, in my mind.
You're good for fantasies every now and then, when no one else piques the interest of my neurons.

I had a dream about you yesterday morning. God knows how.
We were climbing some ladder with no visible rungs,
And you said something about your life that made me inexplicably sad;
So sad, I insisted we climb back down a ways below everyone else so I could give you a hug.
The irises of your eyes had more green in them.
I think it was raining.

I like a baritone.
You are troubled. I don't know how. You are a mystery sad person, and the writer in me is gnashing her teeth to know the reasons why.

People's accounts of you are all mixed. I don't know what to make of you.
Some named you villain, but every villain has their reasons for their actions, and those reasons, in the real world, are what make you human.

Lost dog?
Don Jon?

You are a mystery. Handsome, light, and not too tall, and a mystery.

You would never fall for a girl like me.

You are nice to have around, in my mind, now and then.

-Dana Winter