Why do you ask?

His hands had rough fingertips that grew out of guitar strings.
He cups my face in his hands, and runs his fingers over my cheekbones repeatedly until my cheeks are red.

His smell is like the sandy beaches we stayed on last summer.
The waves in his eyes swirl and splash onto my heart.

Why do you hold my face so close to yours?
Do you see the redness that lays on my cheeks?

If I didn’t hold you so close I think my heart would jump right out of my body.
You are my muse, my reason to get up every day.
The redness is just you blushing, my dear, don’t you feel the heat as I do on your cheeks?
Don’t you feel the love that lays so clearly between us?