After an hour, you open
Your eyes - he's still asleep.
You study his face,
Eyes tracing the sharp
Cheekbones, one, two.
The planes of his forehead
And jaw clearly sculpted
As his oddly dark eyelashes
Fan out against his cheeks,
Surprisingly long for a man.
From what he once told you
Had he been real, and you
What you once were,
Mall rat and phone junkie,
He would have been the kid
You and your cool friends hounded
To tears from kindergarten on
Up, honest, really! Your eyes
Trace the Roman curve of his
Nose on up to the crucifix
Carved into one brow that
He claims a different Slayer
Gave to him as a sacrament
Without using the word.
His dark roots are showing,
Just a little, then past the delicate
Flat shell of his ear, the
Curls he tries so hard to subdue
Springing up from
Your shared barnyard antics.
In college, had you been
The girl you once were,
He would have been
Some badboy loser,
Good for a tumble or six,
Cast aside at the first sight of a
Pre-Med or Law student
With a future. Anyway, you reach
Out one hand and almost touch
Him, fingers echoing the fragile
Curve of his relaxed mouth.
His eyes half-open; for a few
Seconds a child pretending to
Be a man looks out at you in blue.
This innocence reminds you that
He is the enemy even as he smiles,
Reaching for you with
One long and graceful hand.
To keep from drowning,
You raise your own
And slap his face so hard it
Echoes through his home,
An angry, empty report.
His eyes close even as they
Open - William is gone,
Leaving you to your desire,
As once more the two of you
Struggle upon his floor
Neither of you ever
Gaining the upper hand.