sweet, innocent, with soulful eyes that belie a dangerous past
and sitting like a child at my door,
you're a pleasant surprise,
A welcomed gift,
And my smile is bright enough to light the room.
My heels make no sound on the carpeting,
But you can hear my steps all the same.
My request was simple:
Arrive. Be early. Shut the door behind you.
Turn off the lights. And wait.
It's the waiting that's killing you;
waiting is always silent
and though you can see my every move,
the silence is almost deafening.
My lips are the color of fresh blood against the snow-like pallor of my skin,
and my eyes are dark as they take you in;
Dark as the curls that cling wetly to your brow,
Darker than my own curls, carefully tamed.
Darkness thick as the rain pelting down outside.
This is a warm darkness, a knowing darkness
that lurks in my eyes,
Playful, yet strict, but loving.
It's the darkness that brings you back to me,
time and again.
Not my fingers
against your skin,
alternatingly silk soft and steel sharp,
Or my voice,
as it whispers your name between stolen breaths,
Not even the velvet heat of our bodies, one against the other,
though it is as magnetizing...
But the tender, loving darkness,
commanding your attentions,
soothing the stresses,
the darkness that forbids a lie and reveals the truth
as it roams your body with a million tiny glass-sharp glances.
You'd swear later, after the furious passion,
the soul-sharing fervor,
that the only light in the room
came from the velvet darkness within my eyes.