His Being

His being.

His pure existence.

 

His hair

Dark brown, curly

That flows naturally through my fingers.

His eyes

That seem to be able to stare

Down to my core

Up to my brain

To see what I'm feeling.

To see what I'm thinking.

 

His hands

Rough and calloused from weeks of work.

His skin

The palest shade of olive

That lays against mine

In the center of intimacy.

 

His arms

Firm and safe

That hold me at all times

That would hold me all day

If they could.

His lips

Soft and close

Always there to silence my worries

 

His love

That saves me in every moment

I want to stop being.

That suffocates me so beautifully

So gracefully

So deeply

That I don't mind.

 

His being.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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