A bubbling cauldron of Bolivia. Grateful as always for the visit...
Saturated Sight
Olivia prefers a chiseled face, angular and sharp. Reassurance is taking a face in hand and detecting the framework that holds life in form. It lends foundation to a man, the anchoring of skin to bone in a preview of what is crafted beneath, inside. What can be hers with a touch.
Peter's face is rounded, nearly adolescent in contour. Pale, the sign of a man dodging the sun while seeking all that it illuminates. She reaches for the structure under his skin but finds the telling core protected by layers of false innocence. He calls on her to excavate the truth.
Olivia prefers warm eyes, melting orbs like comfort food. The method of taking her in, seeing her gifts and defects, should be soothing, a window not to the overrated soul but of intention. She wants those eyes to consume but never absorb all that she signifies.
Peter's eyes are clever and taunting, a dangerous spice. A lively aroma to savor despite the bite of an ancient life compacted into scant years. His jaded gaze is a weapon and though he cuts her, she cannot look away. Emeralds are a treasure one must covet.
Olivia prefers a clean-shaven chin, smoothness that thwarts abrasion. Her fingers slip across silkiness, leaving imprints on fresh skin as proof of a fleeting tenure. As evening fertilizes a weary cheek, there blooms the dark birth of encroachment that she wishes away.
Peter's jaw is alive with friction, rough as worn velvet. Rebellious as a private conviction voiced in a roar. The permanent shadow grazes her sensitivity, scrapes at her softness, marks her with a declaration that truth bleeds from the scratches.
Olivia prefers a forbidden kiss, the thrill of sordid theft. Every sense is heightened through larceny, each movement a rebuke of better dreams. She likes to be someone's secret, a private confession made in darkness. Concealment is the crime and the absolution.
Peter's kiss is like public intoxication, a beautiful sin. A liar's lips mold an exhibitionist from her reticent bones, a reveler in his image. His flavor scalds her tongue and the infusion shifts all that they are until the wrong of unexpected features is righted; hers with a touch.
Because you saturated sight,
And I had no more eyes
For sordid excellence
As Paradise.
….'I Cannot Live Without You' by Emily Dickinson
