Mar 20

He likes the bare necessities and the feel of nude skin rubbing
against fabric on a quiet night.
He sees the beauty in raw flesh fitted on armored bones;
he likes the way his veins cross paths and the way his tongue moves.
He closes his eyes and extends his fingers to touch himself,
fresh out the shower,
as he fantasizes of other disrobed bodies.
He sees her in his dream of ecstasy,
the colors of the rainbow filter their tangled bodies,
dim lighting and the smell of lilacs and the feel of warmth.
In this vision, her hands skim over his elongated neck
and his sallow fingers paw at her umber belly
under the shadows of his silhouette
and under a canopy of steam and the moon.

She's seen it once in a dream;
a castle of euphoria and bliss.
In a dream where they're nude,
making her privates speak and her feet yell;
making them glorious and making her feel him inside of her.
Bringing her to a place that smells like her favorite flowers,
to a place that has his favorite color painted onto walls;
loving her while he makes her body holy in his name.
The heavens are in tune with her and him,
and each new day brings their bodies to a praise.
The majestic magic that his hands and tongue work
feels so amazing.
And he will color her in and his word so sure,
tasting sweet upon the tongue,
glossed and glazed.

I knew it was him all along,
lying there in his nude glory:
washed-out skin, rosy under eyes, swirls, solid eyes, and pink lips.
An almost perfect man, lying there with blissful thoughts
of ebony collarbones and soft black spirals stuck to an enchanting face.
Blissful thoughts of two conflicting bodies -- one ivory and one ebony --
that complement like yin and yang.

He likes to touch himself.