I love the taste of your skin – warm, a bit salty and always the sweetness of pulled taffy.
I smell the warm taffy and I want to take a cooking class with you.
A candied dessert would be perfect.
I love the way your hair curls at the nape of your neck
drawing me to the smell that I love of you fresh from a shower
before you splash yourself with aftershave.
The world doesn’t exist when we tuck into the corners
of our sofa - talking, sharing silences,
lingering over our coffee and tea.
I love it when you surprise me with a tender, unexpected touch;
your voice whispering like some 19C woodsman -
slow, thoughtful, slightly nasal;
your eyes the memory of some ancestral Welchman come to life.
I curl into you,
folding my hand into yours and I go to sleep
lulled by the sound of your breath.
You make me feel safe;
I finally believe that you will never disappoint me,
never betray me.