Sensory remembrance

Have to be up in 5.5 hours, but suddenly felt the need to pen these thoughts and shadows of thoughts that now chase each other through my mind.

I looked at a photo of a him (no mistake: I meant to say "a him"). Then I clicked to zoom in, and suddenly, I was confronted with an almost life-sized view of his face, and he suddenly felt disarmingly close. Every curve of his cheeks and nose, the slight shine of his forehead that my fingers had grazed, the shadows that cling to the edge of his jaw where my lips had been, every spot on his skin that I had looked upon, every imperfection that I remember touching.

And I was hit by sensory remembrance.

I find myself re-experiencing the way he looked close to me, my eyes examining the parts that made him, both the beautiful and the imperfect. How he appeared in warm light and cold. How he looked under covers. Without covers. Under shirts. In a nice outfit and shoes. The almond curve of his eyes and the way they relaxed and widened when we talked in the warmth of an afterglow.

The scent that, as I buried my olfactory senses in the skin of his neck, somehow made me think of water. The way the scent changed slowly as he'd start to sweat. How I was disappointed whenever I'd smell his hair and only smell shampoo.

The confident yet yielding feel of his cheek beneath my fingertips, in my palms, against my own cheek. The slightly stubborn transition between skin and hair when my fingers encountered his hairline. The strange sensation of his chin beneath my thumb. The textures of his skin against my lips. The warm, smooth undulations of his chest and middle, compelling my hands over them, detouring to his sides, tracing the lines of his back before moving down for a firm hold to pull him closer to (and into) me.

The sight of his lips as I'd regard them for a moment before closing my eyes and feeling for them with my own lips. How surprising it was to feel a soft kiss from him for the first time after the hard, detached ones that had come before, the kiss that came unaccompanied and unexpectedly without agenda, and how I'd asked him never to kiss me that way again, only to wordlessly relish the ones that kept coming after.

He didn't taste like very much.

But his voice...