But the words just didn’t work.
How can I express what you mean to me?
If I were an artist, I’d paint you,
With fine lines and bold color and great movement
To illustrate your physical grandeur.
If I were a musician, I’d sing you,
With swelling crescendos and intricate chords and complicated harmonies
To communicate your creative spirit.
If I were an athlete, I’d play you,
With contracting muscles and pounding heart and gasping breath
To demonstrate your impressive strength.
But how can I paint or sing or play
That part of you that is most attractive to me?
That part of you is also the hardest to define.
For that, the writer in me needs words.
So I’ll rely on metaphor, and hope it is enough.
To me, you are:
An evening thunderstorm in June.
Bright, strong, wild, and warm,
Sparking with the promise of power and excitement.
Satin sheets on a hotel bed.
Soft, inviting, smooth to the touch,
Ready to caress my body and cradle me as I sleep.
A towering plate of chocolate candy.
Sweet, filling, mouth-watering, comforting,
Irresistible to women, and oh-so-bad for me.
A late night on a bearskin rug,
Romantic, warm, restful, soothing,
Changing to hot, hungry, passionate and lustful.
These words come close…
But to really express how I feel about you
Would require my mouth pressed against yours,
Our hands exploring each other,
Our bodies, naked, writhing together in shared ecstasy.
And those images are worth a thousand words.
