bursting in

vivid technicolor

the flames in

your eyes

were enough

to light

my soul

and fuel

a burning desire;

a passion

that rages

more than

any storm

I press my nose to his and he exhales deeply.

"I'm scared."

"Nobody saw us, the door is closed. Unless someone is stalking us outside the widow."

"No Harry. I'm scared of us. It's stupid but-"

"To be sensitive? No it isn't."

a soft hazelnut

tainted rich

flecks of gold

drowning in

the amber pool

the warmth of

a thousand suns

enough heat

to melt

my soul

those eyes

those soft brown eyes

"Harry," he chuckles. "Did you hear me?"

"Huh?"

"I asked about your girlfriend. Weren't you supposed to give her a ride?"

"Girlfriend," I snort. "Who cares? Fuck that."

i'll never understand

your heart,

which stole my breath

from my lungs

but still warmed

my veins

"I'm getting an A in this class, right?"

"Don't be silly. You still have to earn it."

I moisten my lips with the flick of my tongue, my eyes glimmering.

"Not like that," he smirks. "And I'm strictly teaching you English."

"But I have so many questions."

He arches his brows and tilts his head. In the glint from the sunlight I swear he's glowing.

"Like what?"

My lips trail over his neck and tickle his earlobe. "I'm just a little curious about your body."

His neck flinches ever so slightly and his breathing shallows. My mouth notices the change in his pulse and I know this isn't just some fling.

He isn't temporary.

He's a constant.

The sun, the moon and all my stars. I don't even care if it's cliche as fuck.

"Can I touch you?"

"W-where?"

My tongue licks the shell of his ear and his pupils dilate, his eyes growing darker.

"Everywhere."

"Not here," he gasps as my teeth tug at his earlobe. "Harry," he warns.

I've never been obedient.

"I'll fail you," he laughs quietly. "I swear I will."

"Is there any way," my hands ghost down his body, stroking his ribcage before stopping at his hips. My thumbs slip up under the soft material of his shirt and draw mindless circles onto his hot skin. "I could get extra credit?"

"Fuck Harry."

"Watch your mouth," I tease.

"This isn't the right time and place, okay? We aren't doing this here."

"Doing what?"

"God, you're stubborn."

...

"This is where I get to be hypocritical. Don't fucking smoke."

"Your mouth is so dirty today."

"Must have picked it up from a student," he jabs.

"Ha ha."

He just kills me with that signature smirk and rolls down the window, smoke billowing from his mouth.

"Let me get something straight, she stole your bloody car?"

"No, she located my spare keys."

"That makes it much better," he jokes.

"Yeah but now you have the honor of driving me home."

"Who says I'm taking you home?"

His voice is raspy from the cigarette, the scent mixing with leather and warm vanilla sugar.

He turns up the radio and I'm expecting some slow indie shit but Frank Ocean spits out the speakers and it just suits him perfectly.

What if the sky and the stars are for show

And the aliens are watching live

From the purple matter

Sensei went quiet then violent

And we sparred until we both grew tired

Nothing mattered

Cotton candy Majin Buu

Dim the lights and fall into you

My god giving me pleasure

Pleasure pleasure pleasure

Pleasure over matter

He sings along, drumming on the steering wheel with his hands. I remain silent and smile to myself. Sometimes it's hard to think of teachers outside of school, leading a normal life. Shit, he's just so chill, tattoos peeking out under the collar of his shirt.

His flat is exactly what I would expect: neat but quirky. I catch glimpses of him everywhere: on the bookshelf, through abstract paintings and a paint splattered cigarette carton.

He drinks his coffee black which I find peculiar because he added a sugar packet to his tea but somehow he's okay with the bitterness of cold black coffee.

no creamer in his coffee,

he stamps out his cigarette,

the ashes collecting

in a silver tray

"I think I have a death wish."

"Everyone dies anyway."

"Right but I'm just begging it to come sooner. I'm addicted," he tousled his hair with his fingers.

I note it's darker than the coffee.

"Is it weird that Rumi makes me hard?"

"Yes, yes it is. Hafiz does that to me though."

"Oh really? Come here," he beckons me and I sink into the couch. He sighs, drawing me into his arms and carefully tucks a curl into place. "Guess you didn't get me sick."

"I got over it quickly, must have been your healing touch."

He chuckles, his fingers brushing through my tangled knots and murmurs:

Even

After

All this time

The sun never says

To the Earth

"You owe me."

Look what happens

With a love like that.

It lights the

Whole

Sky.

Hafiz. My insides shiver and my heart quivers along.

I laugh at that unintended rhyme scheme in my internal dialog.

shiver

quiver

stutter

stammer

utter

mutter

tumble

mumble

I'm convinced I'm the weirdest person to ever inhabit the Earth.

"What are you thinking about babe?"

Babe.

"Trivial things."

"Mmm," he hums, his velvet lips on my neck.

"Are you tired?"

"I think a permanent state of exhaustion has set it. I'm always tired."

I slip out of his arms and tell him to lean back. He does and my hands knead his tender flesh, working diligently to smooth out the knots in his back and release the tension in his shoulders.

As if one cue the soft pitter patter of rain begins, beating a steady song.

"I love rain."

"Why? Rain is so unbelievably dreary. Those poor raindrops end their journey splattered on cold pavement or slicked under car tires." Always the poet. So dramatic.

Other people think of bleak skies and gloomy days, spent curled up inside, lightning striking outside windows and thunder rumbling.

Thunder roars with life. Thunder is beautiful.

"Raindrops remind me that the clouds can feel."

"Harry," he mumbles. "I think I may love you."