A Ray

I look through a dirty phone screen at the scruff lined face before me.

I take in bark brown eyes as they connect with mine,

realize my sly photography skills are not as secretive

as I’d like. He continues to make me laugh,

a wheezing, throaty laugh. His brown curls

are out of his face,

unlike the day before.

Typically outlined in all black clothes,

he is wearing a bright yellow shirt, rolled sleeves wrap around his

arms like his long fingers around my

begging throat. A ray of fucking sunshine, he’d say.

But he didn’t shine like the sun,

he gleamed like stainless steel class ring, blue stone

shimmering, his fingers play with the shape.

Plump lips curve up in a spirited smile and

our maniacal laughter

fills our bellies,

encapsulating a real ray of fucking sunshine.

The sunset is bleeding

across the sky behind him,

mix of orange juice and

lipstick stains. His silhouette is a

shape I can’t get out of my mind, each curve, each

bump I remember perfectly. I'm no fine

artist but I could draw his outline

from memory.