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His reading light was on above us- his dark skin was awash in soft golden light, pin straight, inky tresses framed his angular brows. It drew an immeasurable clutching in my heart.
I lay on his chest, him playing with my hair, both of us in silent comfort. Warm skin on skin. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, he sighed,
"You're radiant." I sat up, quicker than the words formed in my head,
“Can I kiss your hand?”
Amused, he nodded, “yeah,” and gave me his left. I pecked the back of it, as per expectation, then continued. I slowed, kissing each knuckle.
I moved down, body shifting to fit into his side, and gently placed the softest kisses I could muster onto his wrist, his bones, his silk skin, lips against the thrumming blood. Breathing out a sigh, an overwhelming want to love, love, love. To cherish, to protect. To want, to hold. Breathing out my eager, halted fear. Our fierce tenderness in hurt, the solace we shared in each other. I kissed and I kissed and I kissed, running the length of his forearm, earning a bubble of laughter from the unexpected movement.
“I love you,” I prayed to his skin. To the body that had carried him through agony. “I love you so desperately, there isn’t a cell in my body that doesn’t,” I pled, “please, please-” while having no inkling of what I was asking for. I just hoped his body heard me, my thoughts to his soul. I was so loved, and I couldn’t bear him hurt. I couldn’t bear him in pain, even because of this body that fought for him so.
I closed my lips around the hollow of his elbow, and gave it a final longing kiss. This place where he’d had blood drawn so may times. This muscle, the memory that jerked with expectant pain even at the touch of soft lips. I caressed it with the pad of my thumb, bequeathing another helpless prayer to this love of mine before my ascent back to his hand. “Keep him safe,” I implored, and began my journey up his forearm again. Loved as I was, I’d love him with every breath in my body. To love as hard as I could, to exalt the mind whose body I could only hold.
“My beloved,” I murmured, and kissed the base of his palm. The point of innervation to all other fingers, his centre of touch. His breathing shallowed from all my kisses, now shy and demure, my angel. I kissed higher, to the swell of his thumb. “Thank you,” I wished, pressing another kiss to it. I made my way across his fingertips as he breathed an embarrassed laugh, only encouraging me to kiss faster. I dissolved into giggles and kissed anyway, entreating my jubilance be taken as a part, any part, any form of him. My joy as his, an effortless wish.
“Thank you,” I repeated, “thank you, thank you, thank you for keeping him safe. Thank you for being his experience of the world, thank you for loving him as I do, thank you for letting him love me,” a sermon in my mind, a scripture in gratitude, “thank you for being his escape, for being his ability to put the good in his heart into the world, thank you.”
I pressed his now-venerated hand to my cheek, hallowed sanctuary made alive. Breathing, holding me, touching my face, as real as the love in my soul. My angel.
My love, I miss you so. Come back to me.