“What are you thinking about?”

I smile at being caught, and at the feeling of sheepishness that precedes what I will say.

“I’m thinking about how much I adore you.”

“Yeah? In what way?” Your eyes smile delightedly.

“The perfect blending of your fragile bone structure”, I press the tips of my fingers to the softly sharpened rise of your cheekbone, “like here…with the raw strength of your body. The details of your imperfections…your slight overbite, your imperfectly perfect mouth, the laugh lines around your eyes, your beautiful hands. I love to watch you write, to see the arch of your fingers, the way you gracefully, forcefully hold the paper down on the desk, the same way you touch me.”

I kiss your palm and the tips of your slender fingers. They are warm and soft from the firelight and the sleep that has crept into them.

“The way you think out loud. The pitch and resonance of your voice and all of its variance. How you answer a difficult question with such lucid clarity and honesty. The way I can find the cracks in your confidence and how you still manage to land on your feet, constantly facing and mastering your own fragility.

Your adept, sharp wit and insight. The almost absolute mastery of language you possess and share freely. How I ache when someone speaks eloquently, the way you so often do.”

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