The Supernatural Laws of Love

(Your) Flesh Prison

To me, this isn't just a body.

It's my prison made of flesh.

Can't escape it, ever.

Can't change it.

I'm stuck.

I'm trapped.

I'm imprisoned.

...

But I'm yours.

Including this prison of mine.

And you- make it bearable.

You don't free me. You can't.

But you love me-

You turn my prison into something you say is-

Beautiful-

You say my prison is loveable.

A part of me.

Woah.

I'm so glad I'm yours.

'Perfect'- you say.

Hair.

Messy. So messy.

Untamed. Uncombed.

A tangled mop of brown on my head.

Covering my eyes, my neck, everywhere.

It's been through a lot, my hair and me.

Different lengths and styles-

Midnight crisis with craft scissors.

Barely touched a comb in years.

Until you, you did a combs job for me.

Stroking your fingers through this untamed mess of mine.

You slowly reach up and brush it out of the way like curtains, revealing my eyes.

"Perfect." You whisper.

It's amazing what comfort can come from someone elses hands through my hair.

Slow and soft, feeling. Untangling knots.

Stroking my head when I'm tired or unhappy. A small "Oh, CJ-" In silence.

Cradling my head. "I've got you."

I love you.

Face.

Perfect place for kissing, according to your lips.

Forehead- brush my hair out of the way first.

Eyes- deep pools to the soul, revealing my true feelings.

You can read my mind just by glancing at my eyes.

Eyes used to gaze at your beauty, back into your own windows to your soul.

Endless staring. Endless reflection.

Ears- Perfect to whisper into, small things. I love you.

Nose- Perfectly boop-able. Kissable too. Eskimo kisses, so cheesy, I don't mind. 

Cheeks- Too big for me. To red, too warm, never liked them. But you adore them. They remind me of yours. 

Your soft hand cupping my face. Gently stroking it. A small kiss. Chills.

Lips- The perfect resting place for eachothers. The love-giver. A peck. A little more.

I love you.

Neck.