now i'm the meditator
moving in slow motion
try, see what the lights looked like on her cloud soft skin

how long she spent in front of a reflection
using mother's new eye shadow
labeled Midnight, adding to her moonlight glow

sneaking kisses behind their backs
has been something i pride myself on
ride myself on

i touch all of you in the same places;
the difference being when you need it
but there are so many connections laced under your layers
that i have trouble ignoring.

"How do you know exactly how to touch me?"
I was born all-knowing.

that secret spot along the back of an ear
(the curled fold on a leaf)
anywhere the bristles poke me
(pine needles brush my shins)
where hair meets the back of a neck
(that vast lake, meeting the sky)
the shaft meeting all that hair
(base of a tree that fits my back)

the crease on a knee
(cracked soil in the desert)
the palm of a hand
(an areal view of connecting streams)
the tip of a ******
(a mountain peak)
the bottom lip, slightly tugged
(the opening of our damaged atmosphere)

That is how I know;
from singing to atlas'
saturating maps in my wetness,
staining myself with ink ...
and knowing exactly where to feel.