Those parts having this effect on me are your voice and your picture. I do not have this feeling when I am around you, so it must have to do with missing you. But the strange thing is, I felt it even before I met you, when all I had was your voice and your picture. So, honestly I can't make much sense of it at all.

The effect is like cement in my stomach. My chest feels like it's on fire and it spreads, white hot, across my shoulders and up my neck. It's a fire that dries up my throat so that I'm choked up. With veiny fingers it ripples up either side of my head until my skull feels like it might be burst open like a peanut shell. But it only gets that advanced every now and then. Usually it just stays in my chest.

It's something about you. And I have no idea what it is or why it comes over me the way it does. Some people might say it's love or infatuation, but I don't really care if they're right or not. I don't exactly like how it feels. It makes me feel so vulnerable, so completely naked and unweighted.

Not exactly what you had in mind for a compliment, is it?

You really aren't that good-looking, not taken as a whole. I'm not telling you anything new, you've said it to me, any number of times. You are too short, not muscular, certainly not classically attractive. You dress badly. You have altogether too much hair.

But there is something about parts of you. The way your upper lip curves seems to invite kisses -- more than invite, demand. That place at the top of your chest, where your shoulder slopes away from your neck, seems just made for my head to rest on. The scar that seems to beg me to trace its lnes with my finger. The angle of your chin. That troublesome lock of hair that falls across your face. The shifting shadows in your eyes.

Then there is the way you move. The patterns you weave in the air when you talk. The glance that you throw back at me when you leave. The way your stride quickens towards me, when you see me.

Your voice. Its warmth, its timbre. The way it curls round my senses and wraps me in comfort, and has an underlying purr.

And your hands when they touch me. How your body adapts, when mine is close, to fit so snugly.

You are a long way from perfect, but you are perfect for me.

Fingernails, without polish
your hair, still wet from the shower
soft eyes, in bright morning light
toes,when stretched across my lap on a couch
& that white circle of bare waist with belts that hang loose around it

not surprisingly: the parts are greater than the sum

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