There isn’t much to say about the face that I love, other than it makes me smile when I see it. The fleshy peached cheeks draw my hands to it, simply to cup it and smother it in adoration. The dark beard and receding hairline give it framing lines, that my hands run through every chance they get. The scruff is never too much, always clean. The eyelashes are long; the nose is pointed; the lips petite. And the pores are large with seldom moles or blemishes; yet my lips long to touch every inch, bringing grins of happiness too.