When you say that I'm beautiful, and you really mean it. I can tell when you do, because you would bite your lip and shake your head when I deny it, over and over, and turn my head away from you, trying to push you away, because there are so many things I could do to my appearance to make myself look better, but then you hug me, with the arms that would shield me from the prying eyes of the sour souls of the world, and you would bury your face in my hair. Bury your face in my hair, and assure me that it was true, over and over, while you kiss my neck, and I would keep saying no, and no, and no. And then you pull me over close, and I start smiling and blushing, and you smile too, we smile like lamentable fools, and somehow my bashfulness makes your heart beat a little faster underneath the palm of my hand as you keep smiling, smiling with your eyes, at my timidity. And then yet again you bite your lips as if contemplating something I do not quite understand, for you say, yet again, "you're beautiful", and hold me with such a force that I think you might have a seizure as you try to convince me I am beautiful, with your coffee colored eyes lighted up by the yellows of my lamp, underneath those immensely starless black lashes, as your dusky hair moves to the movements of your actions, thick and curling around your ears all the way to that sienna toned neck that your have, as sleek and primp as the plains of my country, as those corpulent lips oscillate to the vocals that you make, so I can peer and see your tongue, the color of wine, that sends me into fits of frenzy, as your refined cheeks bloom, and I gaze and I hear your preaching about me, about the curves of my back and my smile and my soul when really, my love, it is you who should be painted by Masaccio, and venerated by artists. Do me a favor and indulge me with your skin, its worth could never be measured, its too valuable even for the immensity of time.POSTED BY little girl blue ON Monday, August 15, 2011 @ 9:13 PM
