• Finally, I was looking into his face, that soft, childish face that drifted in and out of my dreams, in and out of my waking existence, in and out of my soul like rolling fog, clouding my thoughts as I pause to think only of him. My hands ran along the smooth flesh of that sacred visage, thumbs rubbing just below his eyes. I let my fingers slid thoughtlessly through his cornflower hair, tendrils gently flowing through the parted tips.
    I took in a breath that was warm and audible in the delicious silence of the dark room. My lids closed, and I could see nothing, I could hear nothing, nothing but the rhythm of my breath, my heart, my being and his. Oh, but I felt. I felt the mattress beneath us, the blanket brushing softly against my pants, the near claustrophobic warmth in the air. I felt things that pushed me way from the confines of reality, that pushed us off on our own, this room separated from all sense of time and space. So many sensations passed through me in that breath, that single drawn in breath.
    No thought crossed the hazed void of my mind as I felt the ethereal skin of his brow upon my lips. I straightened back up, allowing my eyes to open into our tiny, private world, our excluded nirvana where our passions became one, but we were still two. I could see him now, that cherubim’s face staring at me with intoxicated eyes, his hoodie falling from his tiny frame, a placid hand curled beside his ear. There were no clips of pink hair in tonight, nor any thick eyeliner. What I was seeing was plainly and truly Him. He was no longer what he normally was to me in these moments. He was not my pet, I not his owner, but in a way, he still was. In this time of looking at Him, that angel, that cherubim, one word echoed again and again in my mind like a light whisper carried from some distant land, a land that was a complete mystery to myself. That one word, that childish, selfish word persisted in its passive, beautiful way: Mine. Mine, mine, mine. It echoed far off in my mind, each time a little different. Some times, it was a possessive mine, other times, more of a proud, pensive mine, and on some strange breezes, it was a crazed, obsessed mine, a mine that was desperate to claw into him.
    Now, my hands drifted from his face, sliding down the curve of his jaw. They passed delicately downward, cautiously feeling the tendons and inner workings of his neck, a neck my hands weren’t all that unfamiliar with. My fingers gave a soft squeeze where his neck became his shoulders. A silent sigh fell coolly from lips that you couldn’t tell were parted, his large, broken eyes closing, leaving a sleeping face that was almost too perfect to touch for a moment before they opened, once more gazing back at me.
    My hand reached the zipper of his hoodie, a thing that became ugly, something that sealed the embodiment of heaven within itself. It was almost with spiteful hate that I unzipped it, allowing the pale glow of his body to enter the room. Thin, frail bones were covered with angel’s skin, pale and delicate like paint on a canvas. His stomach curved inward, making his slenderness something beautiful, yet strangely unnatural like a creature from the imagination if a hallowed child’s deepest fantasies, a thing to be worshiped by all who see it. His whole body gave that feeling, that feeling of holy nimbus.
    I pressed my palms onto his chest where his ribs stood out the most, putting weight on them. I could feel his ribs bend to my will, shift beneath my hands, obey. I felt his breath leave him, lungs falling inward. Strange ecstacy quivered through my arms, raising small hairs until it reached my core where it melted over me in a wave of rapture. I heard a small whine leave his lips, lips that were now drawn into a tiny, shy smile, and then I knew he was mine.