My own perception of my romance.
"Deme, why are you worried?"
I looked up and met eyes of gilded gold.
"You want everything to be just perfect right?"
I looked around as if she wasn't speaking to me.
"You have to make that ultimate decision of what path you will take for the rest of your life."
I stood up and passed her the paint brush with disbelief.
She smirked as she twirled her paint brush.
And then it began:
The bristles trickled light valencia droplets against the mahogany like surface
Her fingertips gently press away from each other
to create a smooth shine against the two-toned cranberry tint.
She brushed a light caramelized glaze over the detailed image.
She watched my facial expressions as she lightly spotted the bottom lip.
She created the softest lips.
She knew what was doing when she saw how I reacted.
She was the supreme artist and I was her audience.
Her mission was to complete what I could not finish.
I continued as I watched her dive into her indulgence.
She aligned his hands with strength of dark charcoal dumbbells,
And colored his sensitivity against the sounds of the rain outside.
She painted him standing tall and much taller than me.
I examined her as she made his body imperfect and she winked at me,
but I knew I was intrigued with what she was creating.
She gently outlined white and glossy soft sided cubicles against his long smile,
and decorated his skin with one single piece of art, our favorite music note, a treble clef.
She laughed as she drew his confidence and arrogance aerate from his skin.
His eyes focus on his love for reading, writing and the performing arts.
and body position stood with masculinity, prestige, and control.
"You have to know that you will never be in control. "
I looked away from her and faced the wall . Before I could speak, she muttered:
" Hush, I'm done with your expectations, now watch."
She refreshed her paint brush and took the time to detail his eyes.
To think that I created so much emphasis on this painting of my mister right. Now I can't stop her, she's too deep. Much too deep...
I took a step back and found myself astonished and covered in fascination .
Because he wasn't who I painted my Mister right to be.
He was more than I thought I deserved in my existence.
She turned to me and asked, "Bring my indulgence to life and press your lips against his."
My neck snapped towards her as I could not believe what she uttered. She watched my precision. I took a deep breath and she corrected me:
"Is this not what you have desired? You subconsciously made this decision to stay, and now finish my lovely gift to you..."
I contemplated what she spoke of... And with no one looking, I gently pressed myself against his.
I felt dumb for a few seconds until I started to taste sea salt of the beach.
It brought me back to my childhood, forcing me to relax my eyes
I could see my brother playing with my father and sister while my mother enjoyed her ebony magazine underneath the jumbo salmon pink and apple green beach umbrella.
I remember standing there, being knee deep in the warm relaxful water,
just an awkward gentle boy observing his life.
I felt a hand gently palm my face, and I flashed forward to my grandma smile.
Its been more than 7 years since she passed, the warmth of her smile was worth that few moments of bliss.
I felt my head jerk back as I fell deeper into the indulgence of him..
I enjoy moments of graduating with my bachelor's degree and the blood, sweat and tears that got me there.
I remember my first touch and how sensual it was.
The first reading of my poetry and the intensity that I felt in my fingertips.
As I lyrically spoke.
My hands scale his skin as his lips began a journey down my neck.
Every lick and gust of air that escape from his lips shatter feelings of pain and promise.
I could feel my body fall into a puddle of lust and I didn't know how to feel.
I slowly opened my eyes to stare at the ceiling...
My ears tuned sharp could hear every breath that was taken
Every moan and every brush stroke.
I saw the room sweating with heat and I found myself confused,
Even though his eyes were close, I could see through his eyes.
I watch myself through him.
I looked enchanted, and intrigued.
I look at home and comfortable, and I also watch him feed off my passion.
Was this feeling real or all imaginary?
Was this all dreamt up, what separate this from reality?
I took a step away from him, and my pain started to cut down my lust.
Why was I created if I could not love?
This is not real... I am kissing a painting and I broke free...
I slapped down her portrait and she jumped up.
"What are you doing? Why question me!?"
Warm tears rushed down my face.
I stood there in silence with my tears hitting the floor.
I couldn't say a word. I just stood there with tears.
I want a happy ending.
She walked up to me and hugged me.
You could hear my heart played in a D# diminish chord.
"I was only trying to help..." she muttered as she released.
Her eyes stared into the distance. I turned to see what she was looking at.
He said, "Deme, I was here the entire time. You were too busy looking for me, to not let me find you."
He picked up her painting and put it back on the stand.
I didn't know to feel. He walked up to her and hugged her.
He whispered in her ear, "he isnt ready for me, yet."
I stood there with empowerment as I heard him utter those words.
The gentleman walked over to me, and kissed me on my lips.
"You aren't ready for me yet, because you still need to be in control. When you finally allow God to settle in your heart, and allow him to breathe new life into you, then you'll be ready.
I continued to leave my head up high, as I watch him walk into the light.