I see your fingers
prancing along the wall’s
surface — romancing the silver head of a
metal screw. You do this all the time.
Jagged surfaces of bleached wood
smooth polyester finish along
Your fingers travel across to
touch, to learn.
can’t help but wonder:
do these same hands yearn?
And if they do, can I
offer my skin for their next conquest?
stroke and trace the creasing lines that make my frown, or
cover the gaps between
my fingers, the secret concave along
these clavicles, then graze the bumps of uneven skin — only to decipher the code hidden beneath my scar…
I see your fingers. You
do this all the time.
Let it explore me,
even for a little while. I’m here.
All the time.