Her body moves delightfully, not the most graceful or fluid but so beautifully impassioned, her body whispers, speaks of a flame dwelling deep, flickering. It speaks just briefly here and there, suggesting, begging, hinting to be free. Suppressed by her mind, her judgment subconscious as is mine. Willing to give in, but not yet willing to let go, timid now, but yet beautifully bolder she grows. I want her, her compassion, her understanding, her desire to better herself, her stunning eyes that shimmer with innocence, admiration, and appreciation, and peer through the minutia of gaudy flashy words, to the meaning, to the person, to the soul, even if she can't describe what she's seeing. Eyes that possess a soul far older than her, eyes that can appreciate not only what something is, but what it can be. Eyes that believe in me, eyes that trust me, eyes that drive me without thought and seemingly without effort, to be something better than myself. Her body, her eyes, her love... I want her... I love her.
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