Fall Years Are Beautiful

My beautimous man is my favorite visual treat. Times staring at him are times I often repeat. His blond tendrils hang down, outside his do-rag, and are curls my fingers just have to twirl and grab. Fierce, piercing blue eyes allow his gaze to melt me, happens all the time and never do I ever mind. The rich pay surgeons for cheekbones my man has. My knuckles sometimes trace each bones span. He has such a good-looking nose, not big or small, it’s a nose I frequently kiss on my tip toes. Perfect lips motivate my own to seek his kiss. They aren't thick or thin, but ideal sized bliss. I’m mesmerized by his labor rustled arm muscles that grow a need for my cheeks to muscle nuzzle. My beautimous man said my vision needs to be checked because no features of his do my eyes accurately detect. He said his curls do hang down, but no hair is on his crown. He took me to a mirror to see lines under his eyes clearer, said his cheekbones are no longer sensual but skeletal, his nose now nostril hair grows and rudely hair shows, plus, his muscles have aged and are now sad sag designed. I asked what word bits would he now hurl about his lips - he pulled me close and said, ‘only kisses are on my lip script.’