written by: Stormboxer
I find myself imagining things.
Like the ink smudges against the seams of her dress,
falling to the floor.
Her paint stained hands lost between the canvas and the knots of my hair.
Her presence tarnishing everything it comes in contact with.
In that pay attention to me way she has about her.
She’s like poetry moving about the room with fluid ease.
Gracefully. As if she knows everyone’s watching.
The sway of her hips dragging them in against their will.
And they are.
They always are.
The softness of her voice cuts through me like glass.
Tearing my thoughts away. Beckoning me to return to the moment. She’s telling someone good morning, her molasses hair dripping around her shoulder like a cascade of wind. Her sweet smell, intoxicatingly filled the air and I fumbled to gather my wits about me. She smells of honey suckle and desire and looks like Sunday morning. The kind that makes you wanna show up and shake the preachers hand. For all the wrong reasons.
She reminds me of home. Iced tea, sweet potato pie, and everything I ran from.
What I wouldn’t give for her to tell me good morning behind sleepy eyes and love tousled hair. Her milky white skin casually teasing me, peeking from behind the covers. Her words slightly caressing the Braille of my mind. But I carry a different kinda loneliness in my blood. The kind that sabotages everything real and tangible I’ve ever had. It settles in my bones like chaos and runs the course of my body like wildfire. That’s how I ended up here. In a coffee shop. Chasing a dream.
Her name is Naomi, and she’s the reason I’m here.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This is an excerpt out of my up coming book "The Souls Code"