he was a masterpiece
a work of art
though he never saw himself that way
and i never understood why.
i preferred him to monet
to van gogh.
his eyes were the rich blue of the finest of silk
as wide as the pacific ocean
his lips as soft as rose petals
and the way he used to take them between his teeth as he worked,
ripping at the delicate skin ever so slightly.
his hair was as dark as a moonless night
always perfectly messed from sleep.
his skin was marked with constellations
and my favorite activity was stargazing.
Written by Kendall Wisniewski