“You are an art. A framed masterpiece that not everyone can fathom. A mixture of colors; light and dark. Though you consider yourself an abstract, the museum is where you belong.”



“You’re perfect”
He said as he stared at my naked body
As he stroked my neck down to my hips
As he rested my arms on his shoulder blades

“No, I’m not”
I replied as I reticently looked away
As I covered my chest from the cold
As my cheeks turned bright red from the compliment

He, then, laid me down
And his lips found its way to mine
I could feel the pressure as he’s on top of me
But there’s no pain but affection

He paused for a moment
“What’s wrong?” I asked curiously
“Nothing” he replied
“I just never thought that perfection can be grasped by my hands.”