Her skin is radiant, like the sun at 12pm, her presence alone could bring heat to bones or melt a stick of butter. Her long, loud locks of hair, look softer than the finest of silks or satin, how I long for the days when I brush away the bangs to place my lips upon her.
I bet her breath could give life to the undead. The path she took today lit up like a disney sky. I mean literally. Flowers bloomed, babies cooed and whole buildings seemed to move.
She was ethereal in her movement, her grace provided me with the type of euphoria a child feels going over a steep hill. The high a hedonist encounters on their first pill.
Her voice, dear god.. her voice has been crafted by the gods themselves. The gods or Saint Nicholas and his 900 elves (give or take).
How does one approach her ? Her garnett eyes could decimate even the sturdiest ego.
I stand up, quick crep check. Not as crisp as they could be. I mean Sk8 HIs are pretty durable anyways. They say cool, yet smart. I think anyways.
Don’t drop. Don’t trip. Shit.
Clear your throat. Let this man pass, they’re changing drivers, you’ve got a chance.
No awkward convo, you’re not at a dance. Oh god, I’m talking in rhyme, stagefright ? Really ? At this time ?
My bus pulls away and the beauty jumps off. The elderly woman at the back offers a wry scoff and snort. Bitch.
And with the ensuing slalom comes sorrow.. I guess it seems that there’s always tomorrow.