Mikannie one-shots

Her

Her skin is pink; bright corals, and warm peaches beneath a surface light and milky like the cream you pour into your tea. Her skin, it breathes, it bubbles, it shifts like clouds in the sky, it swirls like cream being mixed into your cup, it glows warm and bright and alive.

Her eyes are dark and deep, holding storm clouds that beat down and push tsunamis out, waves crashing over her eyes and dribbling down her cheeks. They're mesmerizing, they move, like loose tea leaves swirling around the water, ever darkening with secret, cooling from its steaming wrath. Inside the storm clouds, there's a bolt of lighting. Her eyes, they glow like embers, orange and red and white, buried in piles of ash. Deep inside her, there's a passion, a flame, a radiant phoenix. The eyes are the windows to the soul and I see, when I look at her, a warm, welcoming hearth, with tendrils of fire reaching out to save you from the cold.

Her lips are chapped and jagged like mountain ranges. But they're warm, and inside they're wet, and explode with passion. Like a volcano she'll spit out at you. Her lips are the color of a radiant sunrise, pale and pink and glowing gold as if there are scraps of the sun tucked inside her; beaming out rays of its glorious light.

Her hair is like a raven's feathers, it gleams it shines its black like night, and I swear I see the blues and greens of five a.m in it.

Her hands they stroke my hair, sifting through, scratching my head and yanking at my hair. Her hands brush across my face, cradling my cheek. Her hands they grip my waist and sway me back and forth. Her hands caress my arms and neck and slide down to my sides. Her hands they pull me into her arms, and they secure me close. Her hands they grasp my beating heart, that they themselves have revived.

Her face is like a winter sunrise. She fades from navy to sky blue to rose to pink and then to gold. Her cheeks and lips are pink like fluffy clouds. She glows from the inside like the sun glowing through her.

    Her skin feels like a fresh snowfall, with no footprints to disturb the peace. She smells like a half-burnt candle, wax dripping down its sides. She smells like the coal mines, with glowing gold deep  down beneath.

    Her mouth tastes sweet and a little spicy like German gingerbread. She tastes floral and mild sweet like lavender and chamomile.

   Her arms, her hug feels soft like clouds and blankets and sleeping in late. She feels warm like curling up, drinking tea by the fireplace. She feels safe like having your own bodyguard.

    Her voice sounds like a raven's caw, she sounds like the canaries in the mines, she sounds like the padding of footsteps on the crunchy snow. She sound sweet and warm and safe, she sounds soft and smooth and pretty, she sounds like the fire crackling, she sounds like a metal spoon clinking against a porcelain teacup.

Her.