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i watch his eyes, dark and brown, as he lights a match,

the flame reflects and i can barely make out

the caramel tint that is only visible in the sun,

the eyes that look at me so fondly when i tell him

how beautiful he is for the sixth time that day

i watch his hands as he hovers the flame

over the wick of the apple cinnamon candle

he bought for me because he knows its the

only scent i will burn in my room, the hands

that trace my skin while i read my favorite

books as he watches my expressions as if my face

is telling the story to him

i watch his lips as he blows the match out

and lets the smoke travel where ever it wants,

the lips that are always soft and eager to kiss me

when we stop at red lights or before we go

to bed or when he comes home from studying

at the park because i distract him with too

much affection, he doesn't have the strength to resist