My loving and sun-beaten father;
Calloused hands but the most tender arms.
I often felt those calluses and thought “how do you even get calluses like that?”
You love your family. And over 20, 30 years of loving your family, you get calluses like that.
I love those calloused hands.
Those of the man whom is maybe the only one I doubt never the love he has for me. And whose embrace I’ve yet to find a competitors hug beat,
That of my father; sun-beaten and callous-handed.
Yes, the man who taught me what love was.

I feel lonesome hands approaching mine
to walk me through the desert.
I tense my arms against the open night sky
which cannot be pushed away.

I want you to love my grey skies,
my pensivity that rolls across mountain ranges -
the same to me as sunshine igniting streams.
Just a different lens
through which my creature plays with light.
She is elemental
and sloughs skin off the earth like lava flowing
into the ocean to close its eyes.
I'll eat my own tail
to discover what I already know.

By your presence I am bound.
“I’m an open book” sounds a lot like “I’m a blank slate” to some people
Who don’t like what’s written in the pages.

The softness of your shape
My love,
I wish to finger paint your picture
I long to sculpt your every inch
Leaving no detail lost
For I love them all
And I see you all in all,
Now and then and to be
And for every new detail I’ll paint again
Create a gallery of you
My muse

Undress from your sundress
And let me sit in the warmth of you
Let the fabric fall with me
Let it and my hands grace your skin softly
And let us stay like this for hours