LaMeta

The crease between his forearm and his bicep formed a drop of sweat. It slowly trickled around his arm and parted ways when it reached his elbow, as it touched the seams of his beige patio swing. Her neck, cradled in his arms radiated a warmth he almost lusted for, even in the hot humid days they were now enduring. She had closed her eyes about 35 minutes ago, and it was safe to assume she fell into a slumber 3 minutes after that.

For once her body stood still; for once he could contemplate every curve that drove sane men mad and every inch of her skin that filled humble women with envy.

She was stagnant. Her breasts were the only thing moving, breath after breath. The sound of leaves shaken by the wind faded out. There was a hummingbird nearby. He looked down, closer at her, the real her. No makeup to cover up her perfect imperfections, the ones that made her, well her.

It was like this he actually felt he could look at her naked. Deeply naked.

She was wearing her hair natural, untamed and tangled. And perhaps what made her most naked of all, was that no laughter could distract from hidden emotion.

She was perfect.

From the small scar that split her left brow into two, to the way her upper lip was disproportional to her bigger bottom lip. It was cute, the way she puckered her lips in her sleep, as if kissing what she saw when she closed her eyes. Her eyes, deep, windows, and the color of wet wood, now unseen. He could see her eyes moving under her lids. She was dreaming. What could she be dreaming of? The past? The future? He was more awake then ever. He was living the present, better than any past or future could behold. She laid across his lap, in his arms and she was his. There was no place, no time, and with nobody he would rather be than in this moment, with her.

Oryon might be where stars are made, but this is his one and only North Star.