Him

I can't stop thinking about him, everything I look at reminds me of him. Look look LOOK, I stop.  SItting up I clamor down from my bed, bare feet touching the cold wood. As I walk out I begin to think about him again. He reminds he of the rain, cold and warm and wet all at the same time, his eyes like fresh bread pulled straight from the oven, His mouth like a cobra trapping me in a daze waiting to strike. I make my way to the kitchen, my hand slides across the smooth marble counter. His skin felt like the counter too, I remember running my hands across his back, his chest, neck and face. My heartbeat quickens as I find myself at the basement door. Open it open it OPEN IT, i'm screaming at myself. How many days has it been I wonder as I walk down the stairs. I stop and turn on the lights. He lays there, his back, chest, and neck cut to ribbons, all but his face, I could never ruin a angel's masterpiece. I grab a clean blanket from the dryer and lay myself next to him, not even caring about the dried blood that stains the concrete, and pull the blanket across us. I don't stop thinking about him. He's mine.