Woman

I like you for mature with the grace that carries the rhythm of your walk and your touches of madness; Your slow steps that take you between doubtful transparencies stop me while you ignore the look of my eyes that almost undress you.

I adore the kind kiss that comes out of your breath with good morning flavor, when you pass your hand and rest it on my shoulder as a furtive caress, when you unfold each of your gestures, when you cross your legs with divine elegance by cleverly hiding all your secrets.

I love it when your body lives the ascending adventure of my fingers at the very moment that the erect tips of your breasts are tackled; the touch of your daring hands, the choked voice that escapes in the intense moment and that open-hearted emotion hiding the momentum within yourself; and I love you, even more, when that force of yours is unleashed between mottled sheets making and undoing love already made ...