This morning I woke up smiling.
I kissed your cheeks.
Every tiny thing about you inspires me to write stanzas,
But who wants to read a poem entirely based on the way your face scrunches up in the shower, exposing your pearly whites while you grab loose strands of knots from the suds of conditioner
Or how in awe I am at the sight of the beautifully constructed transition of your chest to your neck and how I envision maroon little passions marks along it every time I stare at your throat vibrating when you speak, and your strong hands on my shoulders, hips, everything.
The way you smile seductively to get what you want and how I never thought you'd be that good at making my knees weak enough to buckle and bow down and give you every thing and every part of me I can muster up or hold in the palms of my tiny hands.
(I actually teared up today while looking at you but you don't know that because I was hogging the water and your eyes were closed.
For a moment I thought you must be the physical embodiment of the perfect human polykelitos wrote an entire novel and carved an entire bronze sculpture trying to create and bring to life.

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This morning I woke up and you were smiling. You kissed my cheeks. You told me you liked my cheeks. You gave me butterfly kisses and butterflies in my stomach and you left little maroon passion marks along my neck.

I don't think my body has ever felt more euphoric.
We fit together like Tetris.
Your body felt sacred.
Our passion was electric,
both of our souls pure and naked
just like the Greeks and then Romans painted.
Sometimes I feel like our love is geometric.