Your hips, thighs, are the mountains of meanders.
I find myself traveling each path with ease, finding each curve beautiful, finding each twist perfect as I run my fingers across your figure.
I let my hands travel your figure, embracing your entity, finding solace in your warmth.
Each scar you possess,
each marks unwanted,
every imperfection you might find from your body,
is perfect the way it is. You are prefectly worthy of being beautiful.
Your body is my canvas,
these words are my colours.