Her Face
He loved her face. He really did.
It was the face angels dreamt of when the skies faded into purple and black. Even Aphrodite herself would have no choice but to bow down before such delicate features, alabaster skin, and cerulean eyes as deep as the Mariana Trench. Her smile was enough to make the polar ice caps melt. Drowning never felt more appealing for he was smitten, spellbound, lost in adjectives and comparisons that would forever remain insignificant unless she turned his way.
She did. He knelt. He really loved her face.
She loved his face, too.
It was delicious.
