He was a young man who struggled to meet my gaze; on a warm October night, with the tea tree lights reflected in the auburn of his eyes. I saw eternity; a universe with planets freckles across the surface. I found myself begging him not to shut his them.
Time solidified, dripping down the sides of your jaw. Gathering at your nape were my lips sipping at the persperation that perfumed your breath. I was ravenous, I admit, unable to quench the thirst that thrashed at the burning sensation that was spurned by the way your hands cupped my hips.
Like a Spanish guitar, a throaty purr escaped my lips. Like a Spanish guitar, every demand was answered with a kiss.
Like a Spanish guitar, your pleasure became my wish; a fallen prayer on a dying star, you ravaged my body, you savaged my heart; you plundered my walls, you seized all of my stars. A world destroyers. A home invader. A young man whose heart beats to its own song, like the thrum of a Spanish guitar, I pray I’ll never wake up from this dream that started off as a song.
The inspiration – “Spanish Guitar” by Toni Braxton
Mecca-Amirah Jackson 