An attempt to talk his way into my heart.

Jean looks me straight in the eyes, holding me in his gaze for many moments. He can see that I’ve not yet felt the pull of passion’s embrace. He nuzzles my ear very softly. I can feel his hot breath against my skin. He runs his fingers across my neck and shoulders and begins to compose me poems.

He says that my eyes are like the sky of a warm summer’s night, as deep and as clear as forever. He kisses my eyelids. He says that my nose is a temple, a temple of fine, sculpted stone. He kisses the bridge and the tip of my nose. He says that my cheeks are like the hills, hills so covered in flowers they that sing out in joy. He kisses each of my cheeks. He says that my lips are lightning bolts; they shine forth before the majestic sound that is my voice. He kisses me on my lips.

I feel a light tingle. He is starting to get to me. I swallow and then I caress his face with my hands. I smile and tell him to continue.

He kisses my hands. He tells me that my hands are not mere tools for art or labor. They are art of themselves. He kisses my arms. He tells me that my arms are like rivers, gentle veins that pour forth the bounty of the world. He kisses my neck. He says the no swan’s neck could compare to my grace or poise. He goes down to kiss my feet. He says that he is not worthy to kiss the ground that my feet walk on, let alone my feet themselves.

He walks his hands back up my body and he begins to unbutton my blouse. I feel a slight flush come up to my face and my breath begins to quicken.