vision

I looked up from the large book in front of me to find him in the window, caught in the wind with sun at his back, as if light suffuses his skin, surrounding him like a halo. I had never seen a person move with such grace, I watch as the muscles of his body shift and contract under the his skin. Each sinuous graceful motion is infused with such inherent strength, he could be nothing but man. The width of his shoulders flowing to the power of his arms, his long lean torso leaning against the wall. I watch him beneath my lids, the words in my book long forgotten. He tips his face back to the sun, his skin is colored like deep bracing morning coffee. It had a depth and sense of something metallic in it origins, like a master craftsman had labored hours soothing it, pouring soul into it, his skin sang of sunset promises and honeyed tastes. His skin was an invitation, an invitation to discovery, cinnamon and clove, a memory of long forgotten things, his skin carried with it a subtle hint of vanilla, rich teak Tahitian fulsome. A woman might loose her name lost in the valleys of his skin. the angles and planes of his face, were like the clean edges of a sword cleaving through the fog of my disbelief, his face the smooth clean wonder of a perfect mathematical equation, from the twin wings of his eyebrows to the lush feathering of lashes resting on impossibly high cheek bones. His face was a sum of perfection, his mouth the masterstroke. His mouth was lush and full, the obscene full curve of his lower lip tempered by the perfect cupid's bow of his upper lip. That mouth was temptation, it was the slow tentative motions of first kiss, the quick white hot intensity of hungry devouring, it was the clouds ripe with rain and the fruit heavy with a promise of sweet. His mouth was a dare , a challenge, an elaborate snare of seduction and I was stepping dangerously close to the snapping shut. I stop the singular sound of appreciation from leaving my mouth, almost...At the almost in audible sound, his eyes snap open, like sugar left to caramel for too long, they are the color of pain de epices in places in others they are shadowed and dark. For a fluttering butterfly second, we are ensnared in a reflex tightening thrill of recognition, stretching between us until taunt and at once snapping. Leaving us bewildered in the sudden roar of reality.