the heart of the soul

us

the night air was cool against our skin as we walked through the city streets, our hands laced together. Her hand was a little sweaty, but then again i'm nervous too. for once it is quiet, and we are the only ones on the street.

finally we get to her apartment, and she blushes and glances to the side. though the neon sign aboves harshly illuminates her, she is beautiful: how her hair falls on her shoulder, the way her teeth bites her lip nervously, the curve of her body hinted at by the shape of her dress. her eyes shine a little too bright for this place; it is as if they are a pair of stars. her hands flutter like doves as she talks, and i long to grab them and press her fingers to my mouth. every part of her is exquisite, beautiful; she is a work of art.