Concealing yourself beneath heavy black garb cannot mask your grace, my snowflake. The way you carry yourself on those long slender legs is invisible to all but I. The flexibility of those limbs, around my waist and over my shoulder as your back arcs off messed sheets, your carefully sculpted fingers tangling themselves in my mass of rustic hair. The very thought of it sends a shudder along my spine. Such grace with which you walk and speak, yes, even your voice is porcelain. No one else can hear it but I. They find your voice grating and awkward in its odd inflections but in reality it is the most gorgeous of any symphony I have ever heard. Those eyes. The eyes that has captivated this massive shell since it had a heart that one raced at even the most casual of glances in my direction. Those emerald pools with but a blink I drown in.
You don't listen to me, however. You cannot see the true beauty within you though it is so very obvious. Your mind can calculate the most complex of concepts, tear apart with ease ponderings and musings of brilliant scientific masters that leave normal men dumbstruck. Even your mind is graceful. The way it breaks down everything and analyzes it beneath the proverbial microscope, the way it makes you look at me when it goes numb with ecstasy. Such a beautiful mind concealed beneath those gorgeous blonde locks belonging to a frozen doll with pale skin like the purest snows. I wish, my snowflake, I could make you see what I see. Even if for the briefest of moments. Perhaps then you would understand why I covet you as I do.
Determining I had been silent too long you glance up at me, tossing aside the forelocks to get a better look at me. You do not even try to hide the hungry gaze anymore. I know what you want. Though you try to have grace about it your body betrays you. My massive hands settling on those bony hips I feel you shudder beneath me, amazed by the sheer force that melts away the moment I brush your skin. Slowly your lips close over mine and our minds begin to numb as cloth peels off shoulders to fall forgotten to the floor. With your amazing grace you rock up into me, a soft groan rumbling in my throat. You know just how to touch me to freeze me in my tracks.
We exchange breathless names as you fall back onto the sheets with me buried deep inside you, our bodies gracefully melding as if it were always meant to be. I am a hopeless romantic but you do not seem to mind. Passions and desires beg for one another as beneath me you whimper and squirm at my every touch and every move. I watch your eyes flutter in perfect time with the rhythm, in and out, wide then slowly shut. So graceful the way you move with me, your body, slender to the point of almost feminine, pressed against raw might, returning my every movement with tease of your own. When we come your true grace shines through, the high pitched shrieking of my name harmonizing with low baritone.
You stare into my eyes as we lay there sated, curling long fingers through my messed hair, mirroring each other's satisfied smiles. I love to see you smile. You don't do it very much. To know I am the reason such a beautiful thing should cross your face swells my ego greater than even your dirty whispers crowing of how I am twice anyone's size. It's all apart of that grace I have fallen so madly in love with, a grace that belongs to you and only you.
The grace of a white winter's night.