The Landscape of You
I love running my hands over you.
Across your chest, over your shoulders, down the length of your arms. I love the familiar landscape of your body beneath my fingertips, the places I know by touch now, the places my hands find almost without thinking.
I love your hands. I know the magic they contain, how they can be rough one moment and impossibly tender the next. Always strong. Always capable. I know what it is to be held by them, teased by them, soothed by them. I know the language they speak against my skin.
I love the taste of you. The salt of your skin beneath my tongue, the taste of the most intimate parts of you. I love that there are pieces of you I know this way, through touch and taste and breath and memory.
I love kissing your neck, your jaw, your lips. I know where you carry tension. I know the way your jaw tightens when you’re stressed or, more often, annoyed with me. 😉 I know how all of it softens when you laugh.
God, I love your laugh.
It is one of my favorite sounds in the world, outranked only by the sounds you make when I’m touching you and you forget, for a little while, to hold anything back.
I love your legs, your knees, your scars. Every mark left behind by a life lived before me and beside me.
And your ass. 😏
You already know exactly how I feel about your ass because apparently I consider touching it both a privilege and a responsibility, and I take that responsibility very seriously.
I love your body, but not because it is perfect.
I love it because it is yours.
Because I know it.
Because I have laughed against it and slept beside it and wrapped myself around it. Because I know where you are strong and where you are tender. I know the places that make you shiver, the places that make you laugh, the places that make you melt beneath my hands.
Your body is my playground.
Your mind is my wonderland.
But your heart…
Your heart is the part of you I could spend a lifetime discovering and still never reach the end.
And that is the part of you that will always take my breath away.
Across your chest, over your shoulders, down the length of your arms. I love the familiar landscape of your body beneath my fingertips, the places I know by touch now, the places my hands find almost without thinking.
I love your hands. I know the magic they contain, how they can be rough one moment and impossibly tender the next. Always strong. Always capable. I know what it is to be held by them, teased by them, soothed by them. I know the language they speak against my skin.
I love the taste of you. The salt of your skin beneath my tongue, the taste of the most intimate parts of you. I love that there are pieces of you I know this way, through touch and taste and breath and memory.
I love kissing your neck, your jaw, your lips. I know where you carry tension. I know the way your jaw tightens when you’re stressed or, more often, annoyed with me. 😉 I know how all of it softens when you laugh.
God, I love your laugh.
It is one of my favorite sounds in the world, outranked only by the sounds you make when I’m touching you and you forget, for a little while, to hold anything back.
I love your legs, your knees, your scars. Every mark left behind by a life lived before me and beside me.
And your ass. 😏
You already know exactly how I feel about your ass because apparently I consider touching it both a privilege and a responsibility, and I take that responsibility very seriously.
I love your body, but not because it is perfect.
I love it because it is yours.
Because I know it.
Because I have laughed against it and slept beside it and wrapped myself around it. Because I know where you are strong and where you are tender. I know the places that make you shiver, the places that make you laugh, the places that make you melt beneath my hands.
Your body is my playground.
Your mind is my wonderland.
But your heart…
Your heart is the part of you I could spend a lifetime discovering and still never reach the end.
And that is the part of you that will always take my breath away.
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51-55, F
