Disclaimer: everybody knows they are not mine, 'cause they belong to each other - erm- to J.K. Rowlings.

Warnings: poetry, lack of periods if at the end of a verse (it's just my style)

Author's note: this is something happy and sweet I just had to write. As usual, reviews are loved.

The perfect match

It started with a game. I played the Seeker

for seven years, training my eyes to follow

your trail of gleaming gold, my body tense

toward the telltale glint of light upon you

heart leaping, broomstick lifting, swelling need

to reach you, touch you, catch you, to etch myself

deep down into the memory of your flesh

...

One day your flight collided with my mouth

and the fluttering wings under my hands

were your eyelids, the silver butterflies

of your quickening pulse, your beating blood

rising under pale skin, flickering flare

of every precious metal in your gaze

when you opened to me, closing the game

...

Both in Quidditch and life, same rules apply:

you are my Golden Snitch, therefore I win