He'll never know

Last night I met Mario...
He will never know the way my eyes drunk in the orange of his apartment. He will never understand the knowing glances Francesca and I exchanged over our glasses of wine. But he will know the way our skin feels together as I hand him a piece of bread. He won't know the way my body looks as my hips turn to liquid as we dance to the left over reggae music, but we will remember how he could feel my jeans slide down to rest low on those liquid hips. He can't know that my eyes turn the green of a stormy sea when I get overwhelmed with emotion, but he knows the way I smell when my sandalwood oil mixes with the heat of my body. He doesn't know the way my cheeks flush, but he understands the feel of my damp skin under a thin cotton shirt. He will never know that the red of my shirt matched my cheeks that night or the green of the favorite scarf I was wearing, but he knows how they rest against my exhausted body. He doesn't know how my hair grows more golden with each day in the mountains but he knows how it feels between his fingers and how my head, heavy with sleep, feels upon his shoulder. He didn't see me look at him with the eyes that give him permission to proceed, but he would have felt the shudder in my body and the simultaneous tensing and relaxing of the whole of me. I'm intrigued by this lack of knowledge and the intimacy of the things he does know. I may give him a chance to know more....