His hair was a beautiful mix of ginger and brown. He was tall, but only a few inches taller than I. Freckles dusted his rosy skin like stars in the sky and his smile shined like the sun.
The clothes he wore stuck close to his body as they dripped wet. He had jumped into the pool in his pajamas, his full red plaid patterned pajamas. They clung tight to his body, showing off every curve. My stomach burned hot each time I looked at him. I'd never felt so uncomfortable to be in swimming trunks.
Our swimming was like dancing the tango with different partners, we would always end up close together but we would never touch. We would just smile and continue to dance.
His entrance to the pool wasn't as graceful as our dancing. I was peacefully wading when splash! I turned around to see the water bubbly and white. Seconds later he popped up, a bright smile an his face.
"Its a lot colder than I expected it too be."
His voice was like butter yet it still had a slight rasp to it that fit his features perfectly. It warmed my heart and no matter how cold the water was my skin burned hot.
I lay in bed later on, my eyes wide open as I stared at the popcorn ceiling above me. I squeezed the comforter between my hands; the ugly green blanket scratchy against my delicate skin.
How I wished I could go back and ask for his number. For his anything to be honest. Just so I could see him once more. To lay my weary head upon the chest of the Adonis that had waded before my very eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Poems Not Written by a Poet
PoetryI'm not a poet but sometimes I write poetry. (And a few short stories along the way)
