22 Mar A Short Story: Verse
*This story is entirely a work of fiction*
She gets really touchy and feely with me after I touch her feelings… you know what I mean?
I think she likes to pretend to always be slightly annoyed with me, a playful annoyed (albeit) because she knows I’ll write something reel nice to her, real nice too. That’s fine with me though, that’s just the type of obscure, obscene, never obsolete type of relationship that her and I have. I think the most difficult part of any relationship is keeping the cosmic chemistry interesting. What does that mean? I’m not sure, but if one were to think about how limited people’s attention spans are and how easily bored people can become, then I think that scientific observation makes more sense.
One morning, a particular morning, her and I were most likely breakfast-dining in a parallel world… we typically like to do most of our traveling through space and time because that really gives us the space and time we need to ensure longevity of love; which ultimately is the balance between devotion and despise one has for another… which is also probably the underlying fabric for the definition of intrigue.
The table we were seated at was rather ornate, which is a bit out of character for us considering we both like to converse (about the universe) at more humbled estates, but this time we decided to converge on more of an empirical environment.
I’ve always found her to be exceptionally beautiful looking in the mornings. We were sitting, drinking coffee and with her, it’s really the small, fine details of her behavior that captivate me. She takes slow, thoughtful sips from her coffee, so the steam evaporates in front of her in such a magical way that it’s almost like her eyes cause sublimation and there is a really unique and beautiful tint to the color hue of her retinae.
You know, I’m a really observant person, a scientist for art, better yet a bachelor of arts, so that type of stuff really turns me on.
I also know that she likes to start her day off by smiling, so I slowly draw a diamond on the table cloth and look directly into her eyes and I say to her (in a soft voice, raspy-whisper like), “woman, you going to let me feast or should I peace?”
She smiles and blushes. It’s an interesting blush she has, it gradually gradients. It’s almost like watching a time lapse of a rose blossoming in which the pigmentation enhances and deepens in color. What a sight it is, if you know what I’m talking about.
She then moves all of her hair over to one side of her shoulder, it’s like her way of letting her guard down then she subtly, but enthusiastically says to me, “Why are you always so hungry?”
I then draw a ring around the diamond on the tablecloth, then again look at her eyes with a convicted concentration and say to her, “Only when I’m with you girl.”
I can tell this struck the right chord with her because she sat up in her chair a bit and I could faintly hear her whisper something under her breath that sounded a lot like, “This Mother F*cker…”
I smile, nonchalantly of course, and then I draw an arrow from the diamond ring towards her and I write two words, in a direction where she can easily read it (upside down I suppose) “Yes?” or “No?” Then I hand her the pen to make a decision.
She laughs and the sound of a lightening strike rumbles in the background. She then rolls her eyes and says to me, “You do this every time.”