.

luke.

.

he calculated her. he ran his fingers through her hair (ringlets, ringlets!) and compressed

all significance in his palms. but it was her eyes that reduced him to waves; the blues of

them, each like miniature oceans containing equal tropical life; the shadings around the

nose; and her mouth: nice and red, perfect for eating oranges. in the end though, he was

always drawn back to her hair, where his hands fit so perfectly in-between her ringlets as

if they were gloves, and he could wear her amongst snow and icicles.

.

but then what would he do? it is only expected that her breath ceases to condense the air;

that her toes curl up and lie jangled the way a spider does.

.

he didn’t care. when his fingers were caught up in the jungles of her hair, nothing else

mattered; not even the moon filling with blood, or clocks simultaneously breaking-

nothing tore him from her kisses (deep kisses, longing, sucking, breathing, full), except

an ice-chunked scream.

.

.

.

.

.

.

upon losing one’s virginity

.

.

..

and there he was.

.

his shadow hung loudly over her knees, waist, and thighs, where she knew his

stillness would be later. the heaves running out of his mouth so softly were now growing

stronger, racing to catch hers, and before long he was standing close to her, so close,

holding her in an embrace so sweet nothing could unlock it.

.

"let me," the whisper said, and she looked back- nodded- and he was already

there, unbuttoning, tangling, pulling her out and up and above and below before a moan

could escape her opened mouth.

so he was hanging over her like a turned off light. and she, covered underneath,

was holding glowing eyes like embers, standing still as water as if a sudden ripple could

terminate his existence w/out warning. which is why she grinned, smiled at the occasion.

smelling a sweetness and something vile.

panting, his mouth lowers over hers. the mouth says nothing, but his eyes are full

of words that erase all that a mouth could ever say- all it would want to- because eyes

hold all passion and truth, and mouths just misinterpret them.

so, with that, he plunges. again. and again. and her legs wrap around like spider

webs and the spider crawls out and feeds and sucks and weaves more webs to conceal all

the blood and sweat that poured out of them. so slowly, and them rhythmically, in a

mechanical sense that only a man and woman can achieve after knowing each other for

much, much too long.

then, as if in a swift calm, he relaxes, pressing himself against her w/ his arms at a

loss for words, and she- wanting to wrestle this loathing in the back of her head- lets his

head be cradled in her arms, silently, in a lullaby.

a quietness slept in the room until his voice shattered all whiteness that clung to

innocence lost: "i love you."

she stops.

his head, so beautiful and longing, glances up w/ it's hazel eyes (dark lidded),

looking so truthful and full of awe that she has to look back at the spider and the shatters

that lay on the floor in order to speak w/out trembling.

and his arms tremble as he holds her, waiting for the response that could re-glue

all that he has unstuck for her.

"sigh."

..

and all she can do is rub his back, hold his out-of-breath body, and wait for

morning to finger the walls w/ her disturbingly, yellow paint.

.

.

.

.

hazel.

.

.

he held the hazel up to my face so the sun wouldn't shine through it.

"is this it?"

eyes scrunched, he returns his gaze back to the window. i casually shifted my weight

while examining the clear expression on his face: confusion, but a pinch of confidence;

enough to allow him the luxury of being right.

"uh huh."

"good." he leaned back, folding his arms behind his head in a pillow. "what are you

doin' today?"

"nothin', what about you?"

.

he looks at the clock and then quickly checks under his bed.

.

"J was supposed to call me, but never did."

"well....i'm not doin anything."

.

a sly grin forms in his face; playful as always, like a puppy returning a stick or an eager

boy ready to slurp up an ice-cream cone.

.

me: i'm not eager. i hide, covering my face, my eyes and my hair from this ravenous

thing that's eaten him, turning him into a black-eating leech.

"you never used to be like this. what happened?"

.

i peer through my fingers. "you."

.

"it was you too."

.

stars flutter in my head.

.

"it is you acting nonchalant."

.

"it is you making a big deal."

.

"it is you pretending it's not a big deal."

.

and w/ that he races through me, holding me in his arms like a dove; emerging- coming

out of the water to rid his body of all clingy droplets, all spells that could never be

broken.

.

"and what makes you think i'm not regarding this as important." he sings in my ear w/ the

sweetest voice, the sweetest music that's ever had to swim past his breath.

.

sigh. "i don't know..."

.

and cuddles have never provided such a soft landing (eyelashes brushing across me); toes

uncurling, legs outstretched to greet soil (and flowers).

.

i close my eyes as his hands take hold of me- breaking me one by one, the pieces falling

in his lap.

.

"does that feel good...?" he asks, and all i can reply w/ is

.

"yes," because, naturally, ice cubes can't compensate for the loss of flowers.

.

.

this is the end of the innocence

.