I love looking at him after we’ve made love, seeing him lying there with his briefs made of shiny silk half down, his penis half out, the tip wet, a little drip still on it. His muscularly formed legs spread eagle, slightly on the bed, shapely and curvaceous, prominent and alluring, causing my eyes to survey the lines of formation that make up his extremities. His muscles protrude, then abruptly stop, while his feet lay parallel to one another, completely still, long and thick, with veins streaming along them.

With his eyes closed, his massive brows smile a smile of satisfaction. His full lips are perched lovingly and surrounded by his mustache, beard, and goatee, shaded in a glow of creamy clear white. While his thick neck is turned to one side, his artery pulsates, and his muscles, as well as cartilage, show their complex structure. His arms are tucked under his body, leaving only the top part showing off their manly shape. He is completely relaxed. All is well in his world. I lie next to him looking at his face again now, his mannish cheekbones reminiscent of the Cherokee heritage that he’d told me about. Sharp and pronounced, protruding from his face, they give him a look of character, while his nose interrupts, coming to a right angle with a snub at the point. I let my fingers run over his cheekbones, outlining each one. I take onto account the razor stubble that seems to come right up from his neck and then on to the top of his cheekbones, right under the beginning of his eyes, and parallel to his nose, then fading into nothingness. It amazes me.

As he sleeps he snorts, bringing my eyes to his nostrils, where it seems as though the cilia inside play lightly, slightly protruding at the tip of his nostrils, black as coal. One seems to hang longer than the rest. As my eyes now focus on his plump lips again, the bottom one even more pronounced than the top, which was enhanced by his thick black mustache, they look perfectly shaped. Looking at them, I wanted to kiss them, to press my lips against his, but I let my finger trace them instead. They are like a masterpiece, as the color darkens at the point where the actual spouting of his lower lip begins and forms a rounded tip. The indentation of his top lip, as if outlined, brings the two together in a V shape, and brings to mind the shape of a heart, pointing to the cliff in his chin, barely noticeable because of his goatee. I begin to rub the hair down over his chin, looking onto this Adam’s apple. It appears so sexy to me. I want to take a bite.

I let my eyes roam over his entire face once more, then focus on my favorite part, his very prominent uni-brow, tracing it as the two meld in the middle, forming the thick mass of hair, perfectly shaped and contoured over his eyes, and introducing his nose, each hair at least a half inch long, some longer. I brush them with my nails, like a comb, and they go into form.

Looking at his eyes underneath, they seem to take on the form of sadness, dipping at the outer ends, even though the brush of thick black lashes hides a lot of it. They still seem to appear unhappy somewhat. I play with the brows, still looking at his eyes, and I notice that his eyes are small in comparison to the width of his brows. They appear centered, actually, between each brow evenly. Just then, he opens them briefly. The color takes me by surprise, the pupil round and dark like a black hole, an endless canyon surrounded by a brown so brilliant, vivid, and stunning that it leaps out at me. Beautiful was my only thought. I feel my heart leap inside as love floods in and my mind says, “The mirrors to the soul, I want to have him forever.” They make me smile as I slide down in the bed and fit my body into the flair of his own, and now we cuddle.

Looking at him, I feel like the absolute luckiest woman alive. In the room so completely still, I adore him. The roaring snore breaks through my thoughts, awakening me. I hadn’t realized I’d dozed off. I smile. Pinned down by one of his strong arms, it feels like it weights 100 pounds on my fatigued over-heated body. Smothered by the heat now emanating off of him as we lie, I’m unable to sleep. Not wanting to anyway, I don’t want to move our positions so perfect. I don’t want to disturb the rapture of love that fills us up, so right now nothing else matters in the world to me. Then almost not realizing it, once again, I fall asleep too, and the stillness of the room fades.