Valentine anticipation or how I feel her

Today, she was wearing that persian wool scarf around her neck, gently covering the cleavage of her dress.
I say gently, because it still allowed the gratifying sight of her chest radiant white skin.
Blond locks of her hair were lain over her fontanels like sharp curved tongues trying to reach her round green eyes.

Her high forehead suggests the intelligence that easily perspires from her expressions, attitudes and words. Her wits have been precious to me more than once...
She has small round and proud breasts crowned by light brown nervous nipples.
She is a petite woman with a rather muscular body. The strength of her back, thighs and calves is well concealed by firm skin and underlaying tissue disposed in such an harmonious feminine manner that art only can produce, better than nature.
Her lumbar back is covered by the finest short blond duvet I love to count one by one.

She never weares high heel shoes. Rather, she likes to cover her delicate feet with thin flexible leather ballerina like footwear, as if she would not refuse giving the privilege of almost contact to the ground she set foot on.
She speaks freely to everyone, never missing a light hearted comment, a humorous word, her magic smile always casting a pleasant light over whatever matter is discussed, the notion of time blurred by her simple presence, as if recent acquaintances were in fact old friends, and new subjects merely the next course of a previous interrupted conversation.
Persuasive she is and how delightfully I let myself persuade often, specially when her red lips form the shape of a heart, miming a silent soft restate of the recently expressed wish...

She likes dancing at parties. Holding her, one hand open on her back enjoying the feeling of its muscle works, the other around her arm, ondulating together through the musical fluid we float in, feeling the scent of her, her cheek so near, her thighs, her belly so nice, makes it difficult to part when the music's over.
She loves good food too and I make it a personal egoistic pleasure to bring her a white bass or a sea bream that we grill and share after some oysters, drinking her favourite white bourgogne.

Often she takes me to the discovery of her realm of sweetly perfumed mounts and valleys, where I rave about with no hurry, getting soaked with enchantment and pleasure.
And when the night is well upon us and our contemplations, we hold in embrace to keep going together through its left moments of rest.
I spend my days with a Muse and lay at night with a Nymph.
Such is my Valentine