A Colorscape of You (GHH)

This was sort of a challenge to myself. It's a nonfiction piece where I literally experienced everything the piece says. It was... interesting. I may make it a series of sorts.

I stare at you, memorizing your every feature. Your hair is flaxen, pale pollen, curling at the nape of your neck. Your eyes are a smoldering blue-grey. They are the color of the ocean in the middle of a storm. Long tawny lashes flutter, exquisitely framing the windows to your soul.

I study your skin, savor its deep peach coloring. As I observe, your cheeks flush, salmon-coral blush behind a smattering of ecru-tan freckles. I pause at your lips, you bite them self-consciously. A hint of Isabelline white peeks out at me, as you worry your lower lip between your teeth. Your lips turn from light scarlet to a deep, bitten pomegranate. They tempt me like the forbidden fruit, but I abstain for now.

You smile a shy smile, and ask me what I'm thinking. I give you only a grin in reply, before I close my eyes. A black void lies behind my lids, yawning into eternity. I reach out with a questioning hand, blindly stretching, knowing you will trust me.

My fingers first touch your hair, that gold dust of sandy-fine texture. As I run my fingers through, flashes of color pop behind my eyes. Your hair brings to mind splashes of sweet yellows: canary-butter-saffron-sunshine.

My fingers leave the warmth of your hair, journeying downward to find the soft skin of your eyelids. I imagine the stormy orbs beneath them, and take pleasure in the barely-there whisper of your lashes against my fingerprints. Shades of blue explode inside my brain; a periwinkle-indigo-cerulean splendor.

From there, my fingers traverse the strong lines of your nose, and the sharp contours of your cheekboons. I imagine I can feel the freckles sprinkled across your cheeks, a firework of tangerine amidst an umber waterfall.

Travelling further downward, I discover your lips, smooth, parting slightly at my touch. The void behind my eyelids is showered with reds and pinks: a sangria-raspberry-cherries jubilee rainstorm. I take in a sharp breath at the sensation.

When I finally pull away, I feel your knobby, assured fingers cup my chin and bring me closer still. Our lips meet in a passioned purple paradies. I welcome the lavender-rhubarb-violet explosions with a small sigh of pure pleasure.

Author's Note

Any feedback would be appreciated!