If there is anything more beautiful than the act of finding flecks of burnt sienna on your flesh, or counting the chestnut constellations spanning your chest, I am yet to discover it. You are scarred and flawless. The hazel of your hairline haunts me; the sorrel shades of you shoulder blades squeeze the breath from my body. Forever, I will surrender to your artisan skin without effort or resistance. Hold me like your complexion holds colour.