With his mind adrift in a space of mellow dusk, he ponders.
Musings of a soul so familiar, so wonderfully intimate.
Reveries of her.
The manner in which her fine hair cascades down the length of her back in lines of ebon. Slender shoulders, delicately curved, as if sculpted from the most superior stone. Her skin, a rich bronze, velvety and untainted, its tone a compliment to her irises if sienna tones. The ebb and flow of her trim back, with its arch of an unending, seamless curve. The gleam of her skin, varnished by a light film of sudor after love had been made. Her face, petite and kind, softly luminesced by the glow of ambience.
Surely, a visage of perfection.
A gift of a smile, she sends, of devotion and ardour, as if spying his silent reverie. His musings of enamour.
Of she whom his reverie revolves, he cannot halt the sense of his great fortune.
And returned is an inward smile.
END