Stare

For hours, I could just stare at him.

   I could stare at him for hours.

 

   His warm, chocolate eyes that sweep over my body, memorizing, worshipping, as if I were a priceless treasure. That childish, mischeivious glint that made him my boy.Long, dark lashes that flutter gingerly on my skin whenever he wants to let me know he's there.

 

   A cute button of a nose. It flares when he's angry, vaguely reminding me of a snake. Or the naive cuteness of it when he's confused and it scrunches up. It's softness when he gently nudged me with it, silently asking for a kiss.

 

   And those lips. Those luscious, God forsaken lips. Full and pink, satin, the petals of a rose. So tender and supple when pressing against my own lips, my forehead, my cheek, my hand. Feather-light kisses of my fingers tips or my ear. And god, that smile. That dazzeling, crooked smile with a bit of teeth and the amazing dimple.

 

   Muscular arms that wrap around me to pull me into a strong, loving embrace. How the skin curves gently over the muscles, softening them. Slightly calloused hands touching and carressing so gingerly as if I were made of spun glass.

 

   A lithe but strong torso, oddly devoid of much hair. Toned muscles with a strange softness to them. That unbearably sexy happy trail leading down to places I've yet to see.

 

   A caring, sweet person wrapped in a rough, sexy, badboy image. Ever so loving with just the right amount of protectivness and trust. An amazing sense of humor, the little carefree edge in even the worst of times.

 

  And a broken heart that I'm so happy to have pieces back together.