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The Bunna Man: Joe Grind Series
Why are you afraid of me staring at you? You are a good looking boy? Or perhaps you are worried that I might see the rifts in this bad boy veneer that you so assiduously try to maintain. Are you concerned that I might see you for what you truly are than whom you would have me believe you are? That I might see the truth, weigh your appeal and find you wanting or lack thereof.
I dear not trust the vain certitude of my opinion but I will tell you what I see when I peer into your onyx eyes. When I look into your chocolate face, skin smooth and dark, regal like an Ethiopian prince. Your dark skin is not a coat of shame, it is a badge of honour.
In your ebony eyes, I see a lost child, drifting on a wave of aspirations and unfulfilled dreams. I see a younger masculine version of myself. I see some of the personal struggles we all have and then some...
I like it when the corners of your lips relax, that tug right before your mouth curls inward into that beautiful smile that makes your dark eyes twinkle. And your pert nose is almost perfect, the blueberry hue of your slightly pluckered lips and the way the hair on your face affords you a ruggedly handsome appearance. Without your six o'clock fade, i would have mistaken you for a girl. You are that beautiful. Indeed the cutest boy sitting on the wall
I like you and it frustrates me as I imagine handsome men do women with silly, wistful romantic dreams of a relationship. You are a constant source of hope and at times sore disappointment. I know you like to be liked and I have chosen you to be a pawn in this game of the other man, a woeful respite from my less than idyllic life.
A onesided benefit concert, like a time machine you hurl me for few hours; back in time where I am young and desirable, childless and irresponsible. Careless with my life, carefree with my love.
We write tales on the Villa bed from The Joe Grind Chronicles. It benefits me more if I keep my feelings to myself, I cannot ask you for a commitment for I am supposedly already committed. I cannot make any serious demands on you for I already belong to another. I want you, I need you. I am not sure if I want him but I know I want to keep you. This love triangle that bounds me into angles of pleasure, guilt and secrecy.
Sometimes I lash out at you. I grow angry for I want you to encourage me to give you a promotion in my life. And I fault you for not seeing that I want you more than I am willing to admit. I know you are reserved, you fear that I will do unto you what I did to him. I know you might never trust me but it is risk that I am willing to take. I hate being used like an accessory worn and placed back on the shelf until the next event. ..
Last Night when he placed his arms around me, I heard the tick of his watch. My ear was very close to his wrist. The unlocking, the impulse and the drop, that was the component of the tick of the watch and of our love. I said, “I hear your watch ticking". He chuckled and lifted the remote to turn the Television set off. He said after a short pause, our features indistinct in my bedroom now plunged in darkness. A faint whisper, his baritone deep, barely audible.
" A so our lives a tick away...".
I smiled and placed my head in the crook of his arm. It was the most profound response i'd heard from a man in a long while.
I dear not trust the vain certitude of my opinion but I will tell you what I see when I peer into your onyx eyes. When I look into your chocolate face, skin smooth and dark, regal like an Ethiopian prince. Your dark skin is not a coat of shame, it is a badge of honour.
In your ebony eyes, I see a lost child, drifting on a wave of aspirations and unfulfilled dreams. I see a younger masculine version of myself. I see some of the personal struggles we all have and then some...
I like it when the corners of your lips relax, that tug right before your mouth curls inward into that beautiful smile that makes your dark eyes twinkle. And your pert nose is almost perfect, the blueberry hue of your slightly pluckered lips and the way the hair on your face affords you a ruggedly handsome appearance. Without your six o'clock fade, i would have mistaken you for a girl. You are that beautiful. Indeed the cutest boy sitting on the wall
I like you and it frustrates me as I imagine handsome men do women with silly, wistful romantic dreams of a relationship. You are a constant source of hope and at times sore disappointment. I know you like to be liked and I have chosen you to be a pawn in this game of the other man, a woeful respite from my less than idyllic life.
A onesided benefit concert, like a time machine you hurl me for few hours; back in time where I am young and desirable, childless and irresponsible. Careless with my life, carefree with my love.
We write tales on the Villa bed from The Joe Grind Chronicles. It benefits me more if I keep my feelings to myself, I cannot ask you for a commitment for I am supposedly already committed. I cannot make any serious demands on you for I already belong to another. I want you, I need you. I am not sure if I want him but I know I want to keep you. This love triangle that bounds me into angles of pleasure, guilt and secrecy.
Sometimes I lash out at you. I grow angry for I want you to encourage me to give you a promotion in my life. And I fault you for not seeing that I want you more than I am willing to admit. I know you are reserved, you fear that I will do unto you what I did to him. I know you might never trust me but it is risk that I am willing to take. I hate being used like an accessory worn and placed back on the shelf until the next event. ..
Last Night when he placed his arms around me, I heard the tick of his watch. My ear was very close to his wrist. The unlocking, the impulse and the drop, that was the component of the tick of the watch and of our love. I said, “I hear your watch ticking". He chuckled and lifted the remote to turn the Television set off. He said after a short pause, our features indistinct in my bedroom now plunged in darkness. A faint whisper, his baritone deep, barely audible.
" A so our lives a tick away...".
I smiled and placed my head in the crook of his arm. It was the most profound response i'd heard from a man in a long while.
60 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 24, 2015
About the author
Crystal Evans
69 books14 followersCrystal Evans grew up in a small district in Grange Hill Westmoreland, Mint Road, She attended the Sterling Basic School, Grange Hill Primary School and The Manning's School in the parish.
At the age of twenty, Crystal published her first book when she met Francesca Tisot of Canada who aided her in getting a printery running and registering herself as an author and publisher with the Jamaican National Library.
Crystal has lead a interesting writing career, her quotes rank among the top thirty most popular quote by a creative mind.
She has written a cornucopia of short stories and published twenty five novels and novellas.
Crystal Evans is the mother of two beautiful girls.
Bronx and Paris and a little boy called Riche
At the age of twenty, Crystal published her first book when she met Francesca Tisot of Canada who aided her in getting a printery running and registering herself as an author and publisher with the Jamaican National Library.
Crystal has lead a interesting writing career, her quotes rank among the top thirty most popular quote by a creative mind.
She has written a cornucopia of short stories and published twenty five novels and novellas.
Crystal Evans is the mother of two beautiful girls.
Bronx and Paris and a little boy called Riche
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August 20, 2015
How can I get to read this book. Help pls!!!!
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