Sometimes I look at your body and it makes me want to kiss you.
You look like an angel, a true and pure angel. Every color about you is soft, comforting almost, like your hair; blonde in a shade that could've been lightened by the sun, where a halo wouldn't look out of place, or your eyes; blue in a shimmering way that reminds me of rare jewels and even the sky itself. Your skin could blend into the clouds, if they were lit only slightly with sunshine, is that strange mix of pale and peach you exhibit. I wouldn't be surprised if one day I found you with translucent white wings sprouting out of your back. I wouldn't be surprised, but I would be terrified. With wings like that you could lift right out of my arms and fly away, leaving me alone. You know then I'd have to do something about them, clip them maybe, or even cut them off altogether.
Sometimes I look at your body and it makes me want to cry.
You're riddled with spots and bruises and cuts half the time I look at you, and every one of those marks is my own work. It pains me to have to harm such a perfect object, to have to disfigure skin like yours, but it can't be helped. Every imperfection in your skin marks a time when you disobeyed me, and I had to punish you for it. It hurt me when you lied, when you stole from me, when you tried to run, and especially when you kissed someone else, and it hurt me just as bad to discipline you. I don't want to do it, I hope you know, but if I don't you'll just never learn. You have learned, though. You've learned not to touch what belongs to me, you've learned never to try and keep things from my knowledge, you've learned that I am the only one you are permitted to kiss, and most important of all you learned never to try and leave me. I won't stand for that, above all else.
Your body is all I have left now, and when I look at it and feel myself start to want to cry, all I can do is kiss you.