My lover's body

[wide_eyedchild]

is a miracle.

The way she moves,
the way she smells - 
its a rush,
an addiction.

I spend hours
touching her,
loving her.
No separation between the body and the person.

Every stretch-mark tells me how she grew,
the silvery-white lines tracing years
of growth and development,
tiny agonies that her skin underwent.

Every bruise tells me how she moves,
how she laughs at how clumsy she is,
and how I'm always there to catch her when she trips.
Those patches show me a body that's lived.

Every scar tells me a story about her,
the big injuries like surgeries, and
the small ones,
the little marks that tell the world that living isn't easy.

Every line and wrinkle, every pockmark and dimple,
is there for a reason.
Whether its because she loves the sun
or indulges in sugar,
her body is deliberate, a story by itself.

Her muscles pull when she stretches,
and they contract when she slouches.
Her belly and shoulders shake
when she laughs - the best sound in the world.

I get lost in my lover's body for hours,
and revel in the beauty and abundance
of every detail, curve, and joint.
What blessing to love a body like this.