I want to be the place your hands wander to,
When you forget to pay them attention,
When they're left to their own devices
And free to roam where they please.

I want to be their choice.
Above all else.

I want your fingers running along my collar bones,
And over my ribs,
           And through my hair,
                         And over my eyelids,
                                        And in my mouth.
  
I want to be the place your subconscious thinks of,
Thinks to go,
When you thought you were not thinking at all.