He has the most elegant hands... long piano fingers that play jazz, that express themselves so eloquently. He can't talk without moving them, and when he's nervous or thinking he bites his lip and messes with necklace I gave him.

When he looks at me he runs his hand through my hair, or down my cheek... and when he kisses me he cups my chin and tilts my head just so. When he holds me he holds me like he means it. He actually likes our skin touching, just being close.

He smells so wonderful. When he leaves I always steal his shirts. He wears that lovely cotton kind that make happy crisp noises when they rumple. When I sleep I dream of him.

Why shouldn’t I, when there’s so much to think of? Fun, and funny… There are a million details that stick in my mind. That lock of hair of his never quite stays down. We argue over theoretical Physics. He has a penchant for bad puns and classic rock, and old school video games. There are dinosaurs around his room from when he was five years old, and he has a smile makes him look that young still. There’s our Star Wars marathons, his pride in cooking for me, and the days that he shows up with flowers and chocolate to sweep for absolutely for no reason at all…

He’s got a sense of Romance in him. Mystery, too. Dark hair, darker eyes... but in them there are embers that warm like nothing has ever warmed before. When I feel those elegant hands and when those fiery eyes trace the curves of my body I burn with their heat. For him I have Love like a fire, All-Consuming.

He is my light. He is my flame. He is my love…

In my eyes he is perfect...


Anonymous
06:48:04 PM