Here, he says, is my gift.
"I dream of your hands, of your face, of your lips. I have heard your every dream and fear and bless your generous heart with every ounce of mine. These are the things that come to me over and over again: your form moving against mine in a soft, dark world of our own creation; your eyes sparking with laughter, ready to light me afire; your voice, a secret pathway to the garden exploding with the scents of my desire, ylang ylang, lemon verbena, and lily.
Ask me whatever you want; I am an open book."
No, I am an open book.
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