Stay Beautiful

a downpour of sweat.

I met him in a downpour on the corner of Colfax and York, his penny-toned hair and cerulean eyes the only piece of clarity in a watercolor landscape. He asked if I had somewhere to be and I told him no, because in that moment I would’ve missed my own funeral if it meant he would tell me his name. He hailed a cab and said to just trust him as he pulled me inside, holding on to me like some desperate teenage lover, but truth be told it would’ve killed me if he’d let go.

We traded words for touches and when he laced his cold fingers with mine, I realized how empty my hands had always been until that moment. My lips brushed his neck and his palm brushed my thigh as he whispered nihilistic absurdities in my ear like they were poetry. He had a face like artwork and electricity running through his fingertips, velvet vocal chords and lips like silk.

Our roaming hands never once left each other as we stumbled in to my apartment because if they had, I have no doubt we would’ve fallen off the earth, disappeared in to the nothing we would one day find ourselves drowning in. Beneath the cover of darkness we fell in to each other that night, a sweating mess of unholy noises and tangled limbs. Sometime after we caught our quivering breath, he told me his name was Oliver.
♠ ♠ ♠
i have no clue where i'm going with this (but i am going somewhere, i promise). i've just been on a writing spree lately, man. it's quite kewl. except i need to quit writing new stuff and focus on the stories i have. lmao such is life.