He doesn’t like to be challenged with doubt. He stands beside the three-story windowsill gazing upon the rainy beach town, one that holds years of magic and tragedy. He wears a dark blue jean jacket, his favourite color, while watching the blue-grey sky subtly change as the say falls into night. His calm, dark eyes see nothing but vibrant color–full of energy, full of dominance. Would rather be outside than decaying indoors. Wants to be the one and only, he rolls his shoulders back with pride as he conquers anything his eyes rest upon. Graceful dominance. Wouldn’t fall apart for someone else’s love. He decides when and where. He grips my hips hard and makes me his. He likes to be on top, and I don’t argue. He stretches his arms and arches his back like he is the new Christ. His movements are those of a fierce lion, and in moments of weakness he is a tamed feline. But he doesn’t like that. “Fear me,” he roars, like spitting fire. (Oh I do, don’t you know?) When he’s close, he’s close, and when he is far, he is oh so far. He talks about the future like it’s a guarantee, but he always breaks eye contact with me first. He sweats atop me and leads my hand to the left side of his chest where his heart beats fast. He finds a home between my thighs and gives me a high drugs don’t anymore. I tell him I love the way he says “beautiful”, his accent peaking through and passion tingling on his lips. He lights a joint and blows out slowly, making the smoke dance in intricate patterns around his dim lit room. He says the weed makes him focus. He gets work done at his desk while I lie on his bed in tight clothes, oh we tease, we tease, we tease. He likes to be shirtless most of the time we’re together. He likes when I adore his chest (and claw his back with my long fingernails). He wears the fossil necklace I made him every time I see him. Sometimes it reflects the twinkle lights in his bedroom when it drags along my body as he kisses me from the bottom up, so delicate. Such fragile moments with such a luminous beast. His chocolate eyelashes flutter slightly when he looks at me. He loves to hold me at night and sleep with his face close to mine so I feel close to him. Though he takes a liking to kissing me in front of my friends, he’s quick to tell me goodbye. Always on the go, always aspiring for something. It’s inspiring, but makes him much better than me. I sit in the corner and write about him while he smiles pridefully that he is the subject of my interest. I have to remind myself I don’t really know him most of the time. Although I am convinced he knows me too well already. I crave and he remains in control. But for once I don’t want to demand I be the center of his life. I just want to feel him near me.
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