Woman

There is something indefinable in your beauty, a rare clean quality that cuts me like a knife.
The angles of your face covered in such fine fine skin, a galaxy of silk sprinkled with constellations of freckles. Each one an invitation to kisses. The high fine planes of your face, punctuated by your compelling mouth.
An incredible hit of sweetness amid all your planes and angles, fascinating sweeps of sherbet colour, their soft fullness a distraction.
I think of the brush that swept you in colour, and those Hands that mounded your strength and softness, grateful to the stars that died so their components could be made into the dips made for my kisses. Into expanses of velvet softness,the valleys of your body a land I could become lost in. No maps, forging paths in the softness, hearing your heartbeat jump and conducting orchestras comprised of sighs and muscle pulses, the high sacred language of sighs we speak in codes, reading braille promises to your seeking fingers.
You are honey to my mouth and I horde each taste, coming to you like a pilgrim seeking your taste before all else. Baptized in sensation and spine arching lightening, our bed is my temple, I can think of nothing else.
Where would I not go if your eyes beckoned me, beyond the border of what I know, I am falling and flying. I am taken entirely by their color, which is never but always the same. Gazing in wonder wrapped in my own thoughts, my walking daydream with a name and a voice is in the world.
I write you in reams and the ink runs deep like my thoughts when I think of us, I could write you forever like my time when I think of us, but now I don't want to write you, I aches to feel you because my words are poor response to the magic you make with your hands...I get wild fires and I can only give you these incandescent sparks from my memories of a light so vital, I can't capture it in these streams of word.