Delicate

“Oh, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways…one.”

Lips at her ear, whispering sweet words.

“Two.”

Fingertips barely touch her cheek, tracing invisible paths to her jaw.

“Three.”

Nose skims along her throat, inhaling remnants of faded perfume.

“Four.”

Warm damp palm against the flat of her stomach.

“Five.”

Sweet breath ghosting over her throat.

“Six.”

Murmured words against her tongue.

Seven.

Knobby nails rake against her scalp.

Eight.

Bristled legs between hers.

Nine...

Nine…

Nine...

“Shit! Shit, Ben…”

Shifting, moving, forward and back.

“Ben…”

Sweat and body heat. Skin and skin.

“Oooh… God, Ben…”

Hair on her face. Nose on her neck. Hand at her hip. Arm around her back, pulling her close.

“Please…fuck…”

Back arched. Taut. Pulsating.

Pressed up against her. Her body’s dead weight. Breath heavy and wet against her skin. Kisses on her shoulder. Fingers play at her thigh, at her side.

“I love you.”

and

“I love you.”

There’s silence, thick and warm and comforting.

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways... I love thee to the depth and breadth and height…In her old griefs and with her childhood's faith...and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.”

“Ben?”

Her fingers trace at the nape of his neck, pulling at the hairs that rest there. Feathering kisses across his face.

“Ben, why do you always have to recite that morbid shit?”


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*Credit goes to Elizabeth Barrett Browning for Sonnet 43