your skin. the tapestry of your body. that guiding force between us, the forces. Our interdigitated hands, our sudorous hands, our midnight hands, and the hands of the hallway. Our amatory tryst, left palm on your cheek, right palm on your cheek- my lips wrapped around your forehead, coming up to the top of your hair-line. Deep, dark brown hair, thick locks of brunette strands. Yesterday, the perfervid and igneous morning hours spent drinking from your hot caldera. And I kowtowed my forehead against your pale soft skin, kissing circles around your naval, and reaching with extreme delicacy the nibs of my fingers up the sides of your rib cage, carefully avoiding your *******. When I came to your shoulders, I filled my hands with them and pulled us closer towards each other. I turned my head to face you and you strained to raise your head from the bed, your supine state, our sprawled bodies turned to neatly intertwine our appendages, to make a ball of skins. You reached forward to hold my cheeks in your hands, and bring the edges of your hands alongside the inches of my ears to bring me down on top of your lips, where you pursed them and sang to me, softly, your voice barely above a whisper, talking into my ear.