Shoulders

You had cute little hearts tattooed on your right shoulder blade. And I hate tattoos, but somehow those hearts fit. They imbedded themselves into your skin, like a birthmark, or a billboard. The first look between us I stole. I waited patiently, forcefully, until your eyes met mine. You smiled, and I smiled back. It wasn’t until an hour or so later I introduced myself. Your cool grip, smooth, supple, your hand in mine, and another smile. “Beautiful.” I thought. Bubbly smile, and lovely legs and I don’t even want to sleep with you. I just want to touch you and fix my lips to yours and taste serenity in sweet, mellow wheat fields and under sycamores. Your legs entangled in mine and lost infinitely in a sea of bed, a sea of seas, as we embrace and clasp and it’s all right, and it feel’s all right. And you’re all right.
“Nick. My name’s Nick,” I finally say.

------

I wake to the back of a girl’s head. One I do not know. Her head is pleasant looking, yet jarring to my eyes, as I’m surprised it is present. My arm is wrapped around her waist, and her hand is woven in mine, pressed hard against her hip. She lets out a breath and shrugs her shoulders, her angelic shoulder blades, inviting and naked. They are the only flesh I ever want to touch. I imagine what her face looks like, and if it fits her shoulders, but I do not wake her. My head crucifies me in anticipation, as I wait for her warm body to roll over and stare into my eyes and kiss my lips and forehead, as she places her soft, cool hand, ringed, on my face, as she flutters her eyelashes, and laughs at my confusion.