“What flower is that” he asks, and I hold handfuls up to his nose, letting him inhale the scent. His eyes close, just for a second, blink and flutter, once twice, like butterfly wings.
“Jasmine”
I study him. This man with the aquiline nose, honey skin and long athletic body. The unruly mop of hair that doesn’t look neat without considerable effort is beautiful. This is a beautiful man.
If I didn’t know better I would rate him: perfect. But I do. I know better. I have seen his dark side - the suffering that lurks within this being of light. Way, down deep, underneath his honey-hued physical perfection. He doesn’t fool me.
Will it be hours (days?) before he erupts into flames of insecurity, becomes overwhelmed by his sense of rejection. How long this time, before he tastes misery and finds it pleasantly fulfilling?
Sweet, lovely, William, your mother should have loved you more.
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2 comments:
i love jasmine. i often sport it's oil on my skin.
i know too many men like William. not all of them look as perfect though.
Jasmine is so guuuureat! Yes I have known many men like him, but not loved all of them as much! He was, physically, the most attractive man I have ever known (to me)..funny how that works!
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