Achatouri
2 min readJan 26, 2024

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Desire III

The Armenian from Lebanon noticed how I flicked my cigarette with such gusto & jan — as he said.

The sweet Armenian-American care bear complimenting my earrings, after we bonded over our shared practice of poetry and told me my hair was straight out of a movie.

The gorgeous Georgian man directing every fiber of his being into my eyes and practically stumbling over my smile.

How fun it is to be desired.

How very much it drives our deepest selves from the greatest of hibernations to the sparks of destination.

May it make you run when you are in a state of such molasses slumber.

May it remind you that the fire is far stronger in your veins than you may realize.

Flirting, is the lifeblood of the youthful spirit and those who harness the gift of balance are stepping outside time to savor the present

I thought about the Georgian for two whole days, he had succeeded in seeping into the forefront.

( Because the desire of possibility is potentially greater than the execution.)

He looked like he had jumped right out of my subconscious and materialized into my reality.

From my imagination.

He was what I had always pictured my counterpart to look like.

Head to toe — dark features, thick long hair and all.

The way he looked at me.

The heat that he exuded.

The whimsy of Aladdin, with the shadow of Jafar.

He was tall, broad shouldered, with very large hands — and I pay attention to hands more than they realize.

He was dressed like a New Yorker, heavy peacoat — nice shoes.

I knew 1.5 seconds after scanning him in entirety that he was absolute trouble.

The kind you surrender to without question.

He was also blessed with a brilliant profile, I like a nice profile — I need a nice profile.

They say men are the visual creatures, and we, the emotional.

Perhaps, this is why I feel I understand the beasts so much, because I am as visual as they come.

And looks absolutely matter to me. But a basic pretty boy just won’t do. We’re talking rugged and a little rough around the edges

He couldn’t look for very long into my eyes. It was too intense — just the way I like it.

Although it was a lot, I gazed him into submission. I would not be the one to look away.

And the best part? He was stumbling over himself while I kept it chilled on ice.

He was shaken, I was stirred.

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