NaPoWriMo 3: Timeline

Two days old stubble, curls just covering your eyes. 

I think your eyes are brown. 

I speak, I nod, I’m yet to realise

I am about to drown. 

Three, maybe four days, same old stubble. 

I guess your eyes a lighter shade of brown.

I drink your wine that tastes like trouble. 

You look me in the eyes and at my skimpy dressing gown. 

Clean-shaven. Oddly satisfying.

Don’t care about the colour of your eyes. 

A mere hug, another boundary untying.

Your smell I now can recognise. 

Two days old stubble. I am yet to taste it. 

I’m here. Make me close my eyes. 

I am a sinner, but let’s face it—

The good ones rarely get a prize. 

I like clean-shaven, I accept the stubble. 

Like you accept pyjamas over a skimpy dressing gown. 

That bloody wine got me in so much trouble—

I know your eyes are hazel brown. 

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