To praise the softness of your skin would be a noble pleasure.
But the mounds of muscles that anchor on your chest are a struggle of roads and paths that make skin so soft, hard underneath.
You are a safety haven, a place that I call home, you are the soldier of the open road coming back to me.
And I travel down the pathway of your arms and pause a moment at the roads of muscle, my fingertips on your back.
I stop a moment at the nape of your neck and kiss a trail up to your earlobe and suck on it, an apple from the tree knowledge.
Running my fingers through your hair, the tug and pull is aimless, it smells like citrus, wood, and a place I call my own.
Your lips are a valley I often travel, the palace of a kingdom; a warm and wet holiday in a place of intense hot weather.
Your eyes are the blue that see through me, they reflect, and they are a mirror; they make me feel I am a jewel, the most precious of all stones.
But deep inside your heart beats and your soul is a hungry vessel; I know the dangers of this journey, of here there could be peril.
You are a map to the hidden kingdom, and I am the only one who knows the way – you are my soul and my heartbreaker, my own promised land.