Oblivion

I graze upon his bottom lip with the corner of my thumb. The look on his face is naked and unhindered. His gaze draws me nearer as if summoning me. He doesn’t touch me and lures me off, not showing a slight bit of desperation. He ambles back to his seat and stares at the distant buildings. I’m not pleased. I had ruled him for the longest time, but today, his demeanour showed dominance. He’s always possessed a quiet certainty, deliberate speech, and a poised posture. He’s wearing a loose vest. His tanned arms crossed as if agitated or determined. His writs are strong, his hands rough and heavy, yet gentle. A meticulous and detailed timepiece sits comfortably beside him. His mesmerised by the smoky, chocolaty aromas of whiskey in his cup while I’m distracted by the scent in the atmosphere. I’m met with an intoxicating and piquant smell, ticking the top of my nose. A warm and spice-dominated lingering scent saturates the room. I recognise notes of Bergamot and Verbena with middle notes of Tuscan Iris and Bulgarian Rose, sophisticated and not overpowering, the elegance of Tom Ford’s Noir. My mind returns, and I find him undressing me with his eyes. He leans toward me, and his head and torso are turned in my direction. Our eyes engage in passionate dialogue, yet he remains in his seat. Instead, he reaches for his pocket, takes out a joint and lights it up. He points it in my direction, and I take a pull and sit beside him. The ambience is overtaken by the rain thrumming on the roof, pelting the windows as droplets covered them. The rain patters incessantly as we sit and enjoy comfortable silence. Our minds settle into oblivion.

~ Shantey Moabelo