Tales Of Love

Caressing her skin tenderly felt so right, so proper, so needed. The feel of her skin melting in my touch like butter in flour, like a snowflake on my palm. Her golden-brown skin that never fails to differ from her surroundings. Her scent, oh Mi Belissima Amore’s scent, intoxicating. It can get one on the greatest level of high without being too close. Addicting. It leaves you wanting, needing, craving for more. Oppressing. It makes you wonder if truly you know what it means to smell good. Mi Dulce Angel, as white and as pure as the snow that falls on a land without civilians. She looks at you with her alluring honey brown eyes that shimmer and shine showing you, without words, that you are truly divine. Her hope, her faith, her adoration, her forgiveness, her enthusiasm, her ambition, her determination, her friendly nature, her purity, her innocence, her joy, her sadness, her tiredness, her sleepiness, her anger, her mumbles, her cluelessness, her love is not enough to describe all the things I love about her. Telling her I love her in many different languages is not enough but I still learn and do it for her. I do it for I Kardiá mou, I do it for my heart. Her fingers, Mein Zartes baby, are as soft as that of a newborn baby’s. Touching them, feeling them, holding them, soaks me with caution. “Careful now Mea Mel Bun, I don’t want to crush Mon Cherí’s hand.” A smile that lights up my world, forms on her sweet plum cherry lips moving my legs closer to her involuntarily, itching to get rid of all the space possible. She placed her head in the crook of my neck which caused me to lean into her little, yet magnificent, gesture. “I know you’d never hurt me Il Mio Fiore, I trust you and with that I say--" “--I love you.” “Yes Mi Amore, I do.”