He leaves imprints on my skin
His lips are familiar with every crevice on my body
His eyes are intimate with every strand of hair on my skin
His fingers map out every curve of mine
The river rushes to meet the sea,
Compelled by its own moving force
Betrayed by its very nature, it cannot stand still
A force beyond its knowledge
His hands, as faint as the gentle breeze
firm like the grip of a warrior,
His palms...oh his palms, not soft but edged with calluses
His voice, resonating like sparks deep within my core
His skin, as sinful as the bronzed-tinged skin of the Egyptian princess,
His chest, rippling with unleashed strength of a tiger on a hunt
His legs, molded, sculpted like the works of the great craftsmen
His feet, perfection in itself like a painting of Micheal Angelo
He cries, makes me cry
He strides away in anger, leaving me bereft
He hurts, hurts me too
He closes up in pain, leaving me all alone in the cold
He wipes the tears off my face and makes me laugh
He wraps himself around me, vowing never to let go again
He cannot undo the hurt but he stays to share the residue of the hurt
He opens himself to me, scared that i may inflict damage yet deciding to stand in all his naked glory
My man
He is not perfect but he is mine and i am his.
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