He tastes like blood, too much power and suffering but the fact that I can taste him, place my frail and untouched lips on his and fall into him is something someone might call a miracle.
Right now in this little room, in a bubble away from powers and away from lovers he tastes too good. Too damn good.
He roped me in the moment he knocked right into me, skin on skin and the panic beginning to fade when he said a hurried 'sorry' and moved on.
"Son of a bitch, do know what you just did, sugar?"
Of course he didn't know, no one knows.
As they walked on by, walking hand in hand, skin on skin, that I wanted to touch each and everyone of them and not have them die in my hands there life combining with mine, as each memory filled my head that didn't belong.
He had a freighted look to him, the same doe-eyed look that had covered my face as I put on my first pair of black gloves and shook hands with a man-beast that I couldn't help spilling my heart and tears to.
"Are you still mad, little Miss Texas?"
"One I'm not from Texas, two I wasn't mad, you wouldn't like me when I'm mad, I was shocked. It's not everyday that somebody like you comes strutting in, give the girl (me) time to adjust for god sake. And three, get your ass over here Mr. Super-Hero and give me a kiss."
He was different, a stranger that had hands with warm fingers that always seemed to fit in mine, blood-stained or not.
