Hair: Even in dimmed sunlight I see hues of brown in your hair and I resist from running my fingers through it. I’ve memorized the dips and hills on your scalp because I’m convinced that my fingertips have ran through your hair as much as you run through my mind.
Skin: There is cotton, and there is silk, and there is velvet but I don’t think anything will ever be as soft as your skin. I could dive in you – or you, me – every day for the rest of our lives until pieces of us are frayed from friction.
Nails: We leave scratches on each other’s bodies and I can’t help but persuade myself that our nails are paintbrushes, our love is the paint and our bodies are canvases. Sometimes you are Picasso and sometimes I am Kahlo and I know that we are symbolic of a masterpiece.
Saliva: You have yet to notice that you lick your lips too often when you’re nervous. The gleam of light on your lips beckons me like sugar and you know that I have a sweet tooth.
Sweat: They say that when you love someone, their scent is like a poison. You asked me what you smelled like and I said you were somewhere between a rainfall and a gentle breeze. I told you that you and the beach during a rainstorm were my two favorite places.
keith just sitting there with lance, talking but then his psoriasis acts up again and he suddenly starts scratching his head a lot and lance just leans over, gently touching his arms and pulling them down, then bringing his head into his lap and rubbing his head to soothe the itching, and keith falls asleep while he’s doing so