Pretty Boy

Sandy blond hair,
parted on the left
falls in his right eye.
Skin, brown to the core
years of volleyball in the hot sun.
His muscles- hard stones
under the current of a cool stream.
His eyes- ocean.
Lips part,
revealing teeth like keys of ivory.
His smile says,
"Aren't I pretty?"

Fingers knead my tense shoulders.
He tells me to relax,
words dripping off his tongue like syrup.
Electricity.
Without wanting to,
I respond.
A stranger to me and yet
his hands act like we have shared the same bed.
Doesn't even know my favorite color, or when
my birthday is.
I shove his groping hands
and walk away.
His pretty face-
that's all there is.