Chemistry Of Looks Poem by Belle Violet

It felt nice
to hug him
Saturday.
I miss those arms
and
that
hulking frame.
He's the perfect height
to wrap your arms
around his neck,
and settle your face
down into
his scent.
He smells like outside and woods
and shop lubricant,
but that part
you can't pinpoint
is the smell
of him.
It's his skin and his sweat,
the nape
of his neck,
I wanted to knock
that hood down to
his shoulders
and find it.
There are so many
bedroom memories
of which
I'm reminded.
And, I did
my very best
to hide it.
And, still
he must have known,
my small waist in his hands,
I didn't
want to
let him
go.
I just
fit
so well
against
his bones.
I'm just
small enough
to fit perfectly snug,
my shoulders within his,
my waist flanked
by his hips,
my arms resting
on his traps,
his
circling
my
narrow back.
It felt good
to plant
two kisses
on his face.
My favorite spot
is his cheek
if I can't
have his lips.
I like that
smooth roughness
of his beard
growing in.
It makes me remember
this
is a man.
This is a strapping,
sturdy and stubbly
testosterone-laced
specimen.
Strong arms and
scratchy cheeks
is all that I need
to feel tiny and fragile
in his arms.
To be the delicate
consumed
by his brawn.
His brow still bends
heavy
and brown.
It's so much more
intoxicating
when it falls as
he lets
his guard down.
It still makes me unsteady
on the flattest
of ground.
His eyes leapt between mine,
back and forth.
it was us
and our history
they were
searching for.
It mattered,
they were gentle,
like liquid
sapphire,
and I remember the nights
of laying
on our sides,
staring at
one another.
Blue eyes and green,
talking
and dreamy,
no reason for words
to be uttered.
We could have
whole
conversations
in silence.
we just let
our eyes lock on
and search
the other's.
The first time
I knew this
we were at his house;
It was the first time we'd ever
made out.
A little tipsy,
very handsy,
his belt
grinding into me.
As soon as
our lips touched
it was
a frenzy.
I was pawing at his chest,
My chest, pounding heavy.
I pulled away
to catch my breath
and look up
from that couch,
to see
if he'd felt it, too.
He looked down,
we locked eyes.
and silently at
the same time,
we both knew;
"Wow.
Why the hell have we waited
this long
to fool around?
Did you feel that?
Can you hear that?
There's a ringing
In my ears.
It could be that beer,
but,
I think
it's just
being here.
I wanna do it again.
And this time,
I wanna do that
in bed."
Nobody
said a word,
but you could hear
every
syllable,
there wasn't a sound,
just green eyes
to blue.
And then he said,
"Let's go upstairs"
because he
heard all of that, too.
It's a curse
for us both,
our chemistry of looks,
it betrays all our efforts
of remaining
quiet.
There are too many secrets
we let out
with our eyes.
And, Saturday,
His said, "I don't know
what I'm doing.
I want to hurt you,
but I can't,
because I don't want
to chance
letting you
walk away
for good.
I don't know if I
ever could."
And back to him,
mine were saying,
"Baby, you know,
I'm waiting.
I don't know if I should,
but I know
that look,
and it's not pity
or pain
or goodbye.
It's you
saying,
'I'm trying
to be a tough guy,
on the outside, but,
inside? You know me.
So keep listening
to my eyes'."