The crook of your neck is my favorite place to rest my chin,

to bury my nose deep into the crutches of your scent: the natural musk of my person manifested

as a trail of fingertips tiptoe on your bare chest, a smile tugs at my lips gently at the bliss of midday splayed around you,

in turn, you scratch my back fondly: the soft contours of my unflattering body don't feel as unflattering anymore

rather, you transform me into a wonderland of bubbles, mischief and sweetness encircled in this secret display of "us"