to touch you is a secret flush–
spreading up from the roots of my soul in the soles of my rough feet,
into my legs that tremble,
splitting into individual shocks surging up my thighs that quiver (more than usual)
to coalesce again in the core of my being.
my hands against your skin in a chiaroscuro of vanilla and cocoa golden-
your hands on my body, painting erotica on the parchment of my skin.
to kiss you is to taste human imperfection in its sweetest form;
making love, a fresco on Italian walls of every love story ever drawn
on the canvases hung from our human bones.
i confess, i am in love with your hands;
they of the five-fingered fame, of elegance, crafted to crave and to craft craving–
to carve in my soul your memorials of sex and sorrow.
you made me remember sensation, in the soft seconds between our sighs,
you taught me emotion in the shuddered breaths you took between touches.
we are the perpetual graduating class in an infinite school: life.
picture my lover, stoned and shy, undone by my hand–
you are helpless at my kiss as i am at your touch,
and together we fuse into melted bliss.