Foxy

A nose to touch mine, so near in what Arctic natives call an Eskimo kiss, whose faces are covered to prevent a frozen departure from this life. Eyes so blue I can lap from a clear refreshing stream and taste a part of the life promised in their native stories: Soul deep. Ears alert to all sounds, including the softest whispers of desire leaping in the dark of night like frogs coming to be my dinner. A face of elegant expression, peering down with soul-filled beauty, stronger, beyond all other, staring with intensity far out in an unknown world.