He had the smoothest fingers,
tone and texture, like marble,
so smooth when he caressed my skin, it felt like nothing,
and everything, all at once.
As effortless as leaves tumbling in the wind,
transferring butterflies he promised to keep safe.
Your fingertips left heated imprints on my skin,
so what do I do now, with this lingering warmth across my bare skin?

He had the softest lips that melted into mine.
When our lips met, I was left with traces of affection,
returning each kiss with willing reverence,
each nibble with an affirming gasp of pleasure.
Lips that carelessly nestled, and searched my neck for perfumed scents,
my cheeks for encouragement,
my chest for excitement,
my waist for reinforcement.
My heart almost gave out each time, but you could never tell.
Lips uttering the sweetest “can i’s“ and “may i’s”,
thoughtfully leaving me eager for what is to come.
I have thought of his lips since it first met mine.

He had the most flood-inducing gaze,
staring me down until the hinges of my pleasure jostled with caution and alarming concern,
searching for clarity in my eyes,
yet never quite grasping what I was thinking.