His black and white lips look soft, but like they could be cruel when least expected. I’d like to trace the shadow of his hairline while his hands find me in the dark and pull me in, because there are stories I’ve yet to hear. I want to listen, but those lips that speak in far off worlds and close up kisses distract me.
His eyes are troubled, they harbour a fear of carelessness, there is caution in the set of his jaw. The way he smiles, in those rare moments he’s surprised, makes me fall madly in love. Everytime.
(For Sam Shepard)