Him

I had seen him elsewhere.

His skin carved by taint like a blank canvas, and I was sure the sea was contained in those eyes.

I had seen him elsewhere.

I do not now when, I do not know how, but I longed for his taste on my lips.

He pierced me with his haunted stormy eyes and my insides melted and I shivered in anticipation.

I had seen him elsewhere.

I think it was in a pub.

He smirked at me like a wolf and approached me like a panther to his prey, it was enthralling.

I think the last time I saw him we had a couple of beers.

He looked at me and he was so close I could smell his spicy cologne, his breathtaking confidence and the promise of sex that lingered in the air.

I could still remember how the bittersweet drink made me feel lighter and giddy.

His movements were paused, captivating.

My mouth went dry and I inhaled sharply waiting: waiting for him: waiting, waiting for me.

We made love that night, like many others, and next morning I couldn’t recall a thing but the taste of his piercing on my lips or the crescent purple moons he left across my neck and breasts as a proof of our lustful encounters.

I had seen him elsewhere.

And I did not know why, but I got out and ran.

Author's Note

Ignore grammar errors.

Reviews

[An owl on the moon]

Mysterious and dark, your poetry takes us down such a sensual, yet frightening path.

[Coyote Poetry]

A very nice tale in the poem. I liked how you described the encounters and the escape. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote