He has the prettiest hands;
the kind that are long finger-ed. And firm.
My hand fits perfectly into his.
He's a lover;
the kind that wraps his arms around you.
Both of us can listen to songs by Pixies all afternoon.
He's funny and witty;
the kind you have a repartee with
He also stops to check if I am hurting.
He's a listener;
the kind that not only listens but also gets.
We plan to discover some enchanted forests someday.
He's a talker;
the kind that creates memorable conversations out of a rendezvous.
We spoke about Heaven and Hell the other day.
He's not too tall;
the kind that's just about as tall to have my head rest perfectly on his chest when he hugs me.
He does that a lot.
the kind writers write about.
There are imprints of his burning lips all over me.