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As I paint your face on the insides of my eyelids

Jessie MaComment

what comes to mind takes more than a physical form.

I see your kind eyes, and all the compassion behind them, and every time they’ve seen me as bare and vulnerable as they were;

your embarrassed smile that accompanies, slightly twitching as your lips fight to cage in your teeth;

your nimble fingers, expertly weaving their love through my hair, tracing a path from my forehead to my temple to my jawline, down my neck, and I hear myself swallow hard and feel your index finger rising and falling with my throat.

I see the creases in your skin, and I am a taxi driver, memorizing the surface streets on the atlas of my kingdom;

and when I squint, I can even see the blood coursing through your veins, blue and red, and I imagine myself as one of your donut-shaped blood cells, floating in and out of your heart, wishing I could stay purple, perpetually feeling the oxygen, your breath, coarse through me;

I hear your voice that sounds like chai tea- deep, warm, a little bit spicy, and lick my lips- it just so happens to be my favorite drink;

and I feel my own skin rise up momentarily as I feel the suction of your kisses, gentle and sweet, pulsate through its pores.

I can taste
your presence

and smell
your aura

and think to myself, eyes still closed,

if I was Satan

and had to design hell,

I’d let each unfortunate soul fall in love

with someone as beautiful as you-

almost as beautiful, that is,

then

remove all their senses

and leave them unable to re-experience something so divine

as simply

closing their eyes.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 18, 2012