Where I am most insecure,
his fingertips caress my skin.
When I whisper his name,
he responds with a kiss.

Where bruises and scars stain my flesh,
his love washes away the sin.
The memories that still hurt my soul
he brushes away with his lips.

Like beautiful cursive letters,
he draws lines of love on my body that heals
and he writes a scripture of lust
that only he can read, and only I can feel.