I like your face.
It is so amazingly expressive, I can’t believe that no-one has ever told you that. How is it that no-one has ever told you that?
I like the way you arch your eyebrow, like you are some super villain plotting the world’s demise. I like your pretty eyes, each with slightly different colourings, framed by those long girlish lashes. I like your killer cheekbones, despite you concealing them: they are blade-sharp. I like the goofy faces you make to hide behind when you are self conscious. I like your ridiculous contortions, exaggerated silliness to give me a laugh. I like that focussed look you get when you are concentrating, intense and serious.
I think about your face in ways I haven’t seen it yet.
I think about how you would soften with expectation when you knew a kiss was coming. I think about how your brow would furrow when you didn’t know what was coming next, quizzical and curious. I think about how you would smile with delight when something sweet was offered to you. I think about how you would open up, everything widening, when you were shocked by something. I think about how you would look in the passion of a heated argument. I think about how round your eyes would get when you gazed up from your place on your knees. I think about how your face would screw tightly closed, but your mouth would stay open when you were being hurt. I think about how you would look when you come.