A Romantic Ode

Lying beside you,
feeling the warmth of your body as I pressed up to you,
scenting your skin, delicious and desireable...

I couldn't control myself, so I turned away,
allowing myself one small touch,
my hand on your butt.

Sensing without probing,
feeling without groping,
I rested my hand on your bottom and reveled in awareness of your form.

You have a nice ass.
Gluteus muscles contracted or extended,
it fits my hand perfectly,
a perfect ass.

Some might say it's too this or too much that,
who is the authority to decide what a perfect ass is?
Buns of steel would be too hard.
Your buns are firm but gentle.

I like your butt.
Soft and supple, not too round like the colloquial bubble,
(I don't like those),
yet not flat, but perfectly shaped for stroking.

Some might say it's just a thing that allows you to bend in the middle.
When you're curled up in bed, or bent over in the kitchen,
I argue that it's warm and soft and delicious,
like buns fresh from the oven.

My hand resting motionless on your ass,
In awe of the electric sensation of your shape and form,
complex curves of varied radii,
like the rear fenders of a waxed Porsche.

Your satin tush vexed me in its innocence,
like a full moon glowing in the heavens on a summer night,
making me long for its beauty and promise of unknown joys.

Smooth and serene,
your bottom resting calmly against my hand while I delighted in its shape,
with quiet elegance you moved your leg,
and it changed ever so slightly into something completely different
and still as wonderful.

Like life itself,
with no clearly defined beginning or end,
it stretches from the softness of your thigh to the solidity of your back,
as common as people, yet as unique as a rainbow.

Each half perfect and beautiful in its own way,
but mysteriously connected to the other,
creating an ass whole and glorious in its entirety.