I rub my thumb against your palm,
The lines of your veins; my maps to the glittering armor of your skin.
Your hair tickles the bareness of my neck as you trail kisses on my honeydew paper maché,
Creating your fruit bowl with the painter touch soaring in your finger tips.

I find myself on you, seeking the location of your treasure,
Sweet old passion pouncing in my bag of bones.
You create yourself in me, coloring in my freckles with the ball point of your lips.
Gentle unfurling art blossoming in your eyes.

We are bones melting into our touches,
Harmonizing in our penmanship.
We are lovers leaping through the garden,
Finding flowers to call ours.