The First Time He Saw My Face.

The first time I presented
myself to him
while lacking makeup
I expected the worst.

He asked me
to lay down and close my eyes.
Afraid of what he might do,
and feeling self conscious,
I did anyway.

I was slightly startled when I felt
the warmth of his hand
caressing my face.

His fingers
touched each curve,
each bump,
and each imperfection
of my naked face.
He brushed and pet my eyebrows,
noticing their true color.
His fingers tickled my eyelashes
as I imagined a frown
forming upon his face
in disappointment.
He traced his fingers
along and around my lips,
memorizing their shape,
before softly kissing me.
With little pressure,
he massaged my cheeks…
and my temples,
causing me to relax.
He swiped my bangs
to the side of my face
to uncover my forehead:
a place he had never seen before,
even when buried beneath makeup.

After minutes,
he moved down to my arms,
my torso,
my legs,
my feet,
and my back,
rubbing and massaging
every inch of my body.
His fingers danced
on my body;
he used the fingernails of his
that were barely existent
to lightly run across
my beckoning skin.

And after he was done,
all I could do
was stare and smile at him,
and hope
he could read the words in my eyes:
I love you.