cold coffee and contradictions

his eyes were the colour of black tea, approximately 20 seconds after youve put the teabag in your mug. You know, that redish honey colour. he was full of cheek. his long eyelashes would peer at you intently without warning. on a boat in the rain in the middle of the ocean raindrops ran down his face and dropped off the tip of his nose. he drank too much. when he laughed all his teeth showed. his accent was sugar and his skin was coffee. he slept with lots of women.

his eyes were classic blue. his sandy hair was cropped close to his head. his accent was mine but stronger. he carried a rubix cube with him everywhere. when he didnt have a rubix cube he had a camera. he drank phillipino rum.

his eyes were so brown they were black. his hair was black. his beard was black. he always wore beanies. his shirt was usually black. his personality was technicolour. he didnt wear socks. his skateboard sat across my feet during lectures. he drank expresso. he called me “books”. he was endearingly awkward. he was far too tall. he had a picture i had drawn bluetacked to his wall. i thought i loved him once. i do. but not like that. he told me that if i left hed cry.

his eyes are the colour of the ocean, when youve waded out to about waist depth and peer to the bottom. if i were to take a photo of him, legs folded on my bed, and develop it in black and white, you would think he was a prisoner of war. he reads to me at night. when he dives he has a tendency to cross his legs and hover like some marine monk. his excitement is contagious. when he says yes and his nose twitches, he means no. his smile starts on one side of his mouth and explodes out like a shock wave. he is scruffy. he likes to waltz when hes drunk. he is my beginning and my end.