Flaw Salad

I sit here bathed in sunlight, and my mind is filled with you. Your long strong legs and the way they climbed between mine. The weight of you over me. Your lips. My god, your voice. That low rumble in my ear.

Your whispered words on that final night. Our closeness in that darkened room. You surrounded me.

You are a poem, I believe. A masterful creation to be felt and passed along, to be recalled and held dear.

I recite the arms and legs of you as a breeze strokes my cheek. I tap the syllables of your chest and neck and ears with my tongue. I feel the rhythm of your shoulders and the cadence of your hips. Your hand flows down my spine.

Awash in you, as the sun, I drift in blissful reverie. Your stanzas are the sacred ones.