Your hair: Its whimsical and natural
smell of mist from the forest pine, molds to any and every form. It
feels so silky between my fingers. I love seeing how the breeze can
cause it to roll over your forehead and ears like a gushing
waterfall. I yearn for the morning to come so I can see the curls:
turbulent, twisted, fury from the battle of sleep. A wave of
attraction washes over me when I see you in a hat. It's easy, sexy,
and fits you so well.
Your eyes: Volcanoes on the oceans of
visions and emotions. Confusing at times, knowing that hardship and
pain have grazed in the scene, but your eyes are still kind. So kind.
Such emotion spawns from your eyes. I see you, I see me. I see me
clearly through your eyes. When you look at me, I feel that I exist.
And I don't think I will be able to look, gaze, glance, squint, or
even stare at anything else more pure. I love when you look at
things. How is it that you hypnotize me with the way you look at
things? You've got the eye of the tiger. They hold a power and I am
still trying to decipher what that actually is. They are amazing,
Ian.
Your nose: Sculpted by nature vs
nuture, it inhales my scent and exhales relevance. The center of your
face, at attention, it's manly yet gracious. It holds a variety of
actions; from your pre sneeze flutter, to the sound it makes when you
genuinely, laugh, supremely hard. And I like using the tip of my
index finger to caress the outline of the profile of your nose. So
please let me continue to do that. It soothes me. You soothe me.
Your mouth: The portal – the
communicator – the lover – and the keeper of that youthful tongue
of yours: I am drawn to your lips. I crave the pressure I feel when
touching your mouth with mine. And it is versitile! In the blush of
the morning, for a brief moment, its a butterfly that lands
hesitantly on my forehead, unaware of the lasting impression it
leaves for the rest of my day; it softens my night with its mellowed
sound of repose; it shapes the top half of a cartoon heart when
consuming nutrients and fighting off a smile. It's the curtain to my
favorite thing. The buttons!
Your beard: The sexiest frame on a
face. It cradles your cheeks and brings a new shade I have never seen
to the facial color spectrum. The most attractive facial clothing I
have ever layed my eyes upon. I like how it scrubs my face down and
tickles the palms of my hands and sensually pricks my fingertips.
Your voice: Oh, how your voice
resonates in my cerebellum. It holds me without touch and it keeps me
without chains. Yet I want to be engulfed in your words and lay in
the lift of your cadence. Though I can't place your accent in a
proper mainstream way, I place it safely in my heart. It's so strong
and mischievious at times, but also agile and endearing. Your voice
is my favorite sound at the moment. It might be my favorite sound
from now on. Sidenote: I melt with the simple hypocrisms you give me.
Your mind: Describing something so
fantastical is tricky for me, but I will try my best to elaborate on
your soul's mainframe. There isn't a device that can track, tame,
conclude, or dilute this mind of yours. It is vast and diverse. You
can be a comedian one minute and leap to the trance of a true
romantic in the next. It amazes me. I love that it needs new stimuli
everyday and has an insatiable craving for knowledge. I am lucky to
know that your mind can sift through the bullshit of a monoluoge and
light up a room with humbled intelligence. I love your mind. It opens
up new realms for me and I get lost in it.
Your heart: I strive to match the
rhythm. I want to be that open and that strong. Don't get me wrong,
it is very complex and can be fragile at times, too. I don't know
much about the molten rock that resides in your chest just yet. But I
hope to feel it, to hear it, to relieve it, to massage out all the
kinks, and as a reward, to reside within it one day. I hope your
heart is my future's promise.
