Sean gnaws on his lips, front teeth digging into his bottom lip until he winces because of the pinch.
He is sitting on the front steps of his home, catching the last beams of sunlight before the evening cold settles in, closing his eyes with his notebook lying on his lap, brainstorming.
Inside, his mother is cooking dinner, suspicious enough of his company as of late. He doesn't need her to snoop through his written thoughts, too, so he resolved to retreat to be a mess about his boyfriend in peace.
He knows what he wants to write, what he wants this songtext to be about; who he wants it to be about.
A smile lifts the corners of his lips and transforms his whole expression into content bliss.
So what if he writes about them; about him? Plausible deniability - he could write about anyone.
Determinedly, he tightens the grip around his pencil, shifts up his knees, and opens a fresh page to pour out the images hidden in his heart.
Is that what I'm seeing
With your hair fanned out on the
Waves of gold
Darkened by sweat,
Curling around your tired head.
Is this a halo?
Are those pearls
Gleaming on your flushed skin?
I follow their trail with my lips
And taste like the sea;
A gift specifically for me.
Are those pearls?
"Please, please," you sighed so often,
Not clarifying what you want.
But as you lie there, smiling, softened,
I think it still is what you got.
A blush sits high on his cheeks when he rereads what he has written - more poem than lyrics, really, but it's… It’s…
Gently, he traces the words ‘waves of gold’ with the tip of his finger, lost in the memory of what he has just put on paper.
A halo; his angel baby.
It's nothing but the truth.
© TheFrogWrites 2022-06-30