ode to a beautiful man :)

He is beautiful. Each line of his
etched face has been carved by my fingers;
I feel him now; soft and warm beneath
my skin. Deep in concentration, the
creases upon his forhead, and the hands
in rapid motion; writing, writing. His hands
move through his hair, and the sigh of a weary
day flows from his aching neck, his back, his
shoulders. He rubs his eyes with the balls of his
hands, and his exhaustion lets his wandering gaze
fall upon me. He is beautiful.