Body Language- 1(Septimal Hour)

I could write a book on you.

Lines mark boundaries, your hair an unwoven curtain.

There are some places that not even the sun can touch you.

I could write a novella of those eyes, dark sad depths that they are.

A sonnet for your hands alone, a quatrain for your lips and

a few disjointed lines for every bend. A line each for muscles;

biceps, triceps, abdominals, pectoralis, the slope of trapezium, the tight lines

of gluteals and quadricepts. A haiku for your jawline; diamond pattern

refrain for your aquilanic features. A book for you, my love, to treasure

when I slow with age, we both our own slow velocity to our literary end.

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