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An amalgamation of his eyes

The beard that his chin sprouted, softly, like a man

His affinity for my hands, and for his hands all over me

The pure intent, what his bite on my lip meant

The triangular muscle, curved towards his abdomen

The way he laughed

Easily amused

By anyone who dented his bed

An insatiable thirst for the water I provided

His movement stopped, waiting, till my movement collided

I’d barely begun, he had already subsided

The twinkle in his smile when I spoke in between

I think I cried when I cradled his neck

But I didn’t cry, or weep this time

I don’t know what kind of man you are

Only every kind of man I’ve met before

An amalgamation but only that

And if you are more, I’m still only that

 

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