The Itinerary


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

framed sunglasses

Your fingers travel across to

touch, to learn.

And I

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.


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