"Her hair was course, full and smelled of ripe figs in springtime, virgin oils and hibiscus. I ran a hand through her ebony locks. They were soft as wool and curled around every tip of my fingers, embracing each one in a chain of silk.
Her skin was chiseled of the finest obsidian that rivaled the midnight sky and envied by the galaxies above. I touched a palm to her shoulder, glazed and perfected to cradle my hands.
Hesitantly I lifted my eyes to meet hers and froze there. Eyes that could pierce Satans soal if he had one gazed upon me with such love and admiration, I found myself overwhelmed. Shades of brown drenched in honey, warm, caring and passionate. They spoke to me in ways words never could.
A longing touch trailed through my hair, down to my chin lifting it so that we were inches apart. "Bondashire, what are your thoughts this evening?"
"I am afraid....I can not say." was all I could muster.
If only. I'd spoken my heart, I would not be grieved of it's regret now."
*note to reader: This is an exert from a story I am working on entitled " Death becomes Him Well", I mark it as such in the mean time until I construct the full story, this is one of my favorite parts.)*
© Copyright 2017 Jasmine Howard. All rights reserved.
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