So supple and moist.

I adore your youth and the fact that the

folded skin near the corner of my eye doesn’t bother you.

I revel in the idea of what a woman you are.

What a woman you will become.

What a woman you can become if I nurture you and love you.

I laugh at the fact that you’re so young.

You’re a babe in a world of adolescents and adults

but don’t quite fit into either category.

I am amazed at your youth.

Your tight skin and the way your smile still reaches from ear to ear.

The way you listen and nod your head in appreciation.

You don’t see me for my age,

But the execution of my words and my intelligence as you giggle.

A gentle chorus in my ears amidst a chattering crowd.

As the liquor touches your lips,

it’s like a liqueur that I would like to lick up

Longer with breathy strokes of tender kisses.

I’d trace my fingers over scars,

place my reflection on your skin

until you’re healed again.

Jeweled and shining.

Glowing like you are.

I watch your tongue as you glaze a sliced berry

and agonize for this to happen.

I watch as you sip quick but drink slowly.

Your eyes casting glances for my every move

and your name strips away the darkness.

When I laugh with you, I can’t believe it.

I am amazed at your youth again.

This bustling bundle of joy.

And before you go, I embrace you.

Not like before. Chest to chest, I embrace you.

Sweetness.

I caress your hand.

Syrup that drips down honeysuckles.

And you are hushed.

Hushed to sleep.

Preserved.

Candied and succulent.