My Favorite Thing

If you must know,
I like your height best.
The way I’m forced to stretch
Up and against you to reach
My arms around your shoulders.

Or better still,
Is the way you brush your lips
across my neck
until you find the spot that sends the chills.

Although sometimes,
sometimes,
it’s how you twirl my hair
while you’re whispering
in my ear,
singing your newest
favoritest
song
ever.

It’s nothing against your hands,
large
and firm
and sure
to move where I will them.
Maybe,
just maybe,
it’s the way they ask under the covers.
The way your touch does the talking,
Fingertips begging for what you want.

No. Not that.
Not even that.
It’s your sigh.
It’s that way you
quiver and groan,
and embarrass me
into ecstacy.

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