Scars

Scars

It's not that I don't mind your scars.
I love you for them.
For knowing that whatever left those mars on your flesh
Wasn't stronger than you were.
You shy away whenever they're mentioned,
Whenever they're bared before the eyes of others,
Unaware that I stand there, fighting the urge to bend and to press my lips softly against them,
To visit them with tender affection for the way they remind me of the fact
That I'm blessed to still have you with me.
That I haven't lost you, even as they continually remind me that I very easily could have.

I love your scars, as I love each and every incredible part of unforgettable you.
And I anxiously await the day you stop shying away whenever my fingertips brush across them,
Knowing as you watch me anoint them with tender kisses,
That with each and every press of my lips,
I'm thanking them for granting me the unforgettable pleasure
Of such tender and merciful moments with you.

Love Poem from one of my short stories

I could lie awake all night,
Counting the little freckles that grace your flesh,
Whispering tender kisses along your spine
And feeling my heart skip a beat each time I feel you shiver
Beneath my touch.
I would walk beyond the ends of all the ages and expanses
of this good earth
To feel the gentle press of your full lips against my own.
To look into your cornflower eyes and see them
Sparkling and laughing and dancing and full of life and love and laughter.
I would suffer a thousand torments without thought or regret
for the pleasure of being cradled against you,
with your arms around me, my head rested against your chest,
The sound of your heartbeat loud, and strong, and steady in my ears.