on days when the wind
dances ever so gracefully,
i think about how your
milk chocolate skin would feel
against my own honey skin;
and i would crave it.
i would crave every inch
of your cotton based skin,
your chapped watermelon lips,
and to have my fingers
fumbled in your fiery strands.
i crave for your careful touch,
yet i think of your cuffed grasp.