He looked like liquid indigo, melted down
and frozen in the mould of pretty boys
with fingertips peeping out of baggy black
cuffs, and messy hair that smelt of the sea.

In the wild glow of the 2am bar night light his
eyes caught mine like butterflies in his
net and my heart stopped beating the second
his hand came over to our table and onto my leg.

His hair shone like sunlight on his golden back
and the silver light brimmed from the moon like
sheets of satin trailing from the achingly deep sky
landing in my lap and dripping down my hip bones
as he trailed Goosebumps along my quivering skin.

His kisses were like the shooting stars pinned
above us, electric they shot through me with
every twist of his soft tongue and bite on his
marshmallow lips. I writhed on the sand as he
squeezed dew drop aches of pleasure out of me
and like a supernova we exploded in a kaleidoscope
of sighs and groans and moans and soft little
barely there murmurings that floated away like
bubbles on the soft early morning breeze.

Dishevelled, I blew my messy after-sex-hair
out of my face while he lit his after-sex-cigarette
(time after time again).

He wiped away an eyelash from my cheek
and it now was my fingers that peeped out
from beneath the soft warm cotton of his
jumper. On the corner at the point of sunrise
we breathed in each others scent,
one last time, ( again and again) and then
muted, smiling, we said our goodbyes.