Knuckles

Caressing your knuckles,
Without a doubt the least pretty part
Of the body human,
Even the word lacks grace.

Yet, I'm pleasured by these hillocks,
Where your veins come to rest
From their long journey up from the ground,
For
The spaces in between those knuckles are where
The words hide that I mine,
A mine that will n'ere be shuttered.

Words needed to create another love poem for my beloved,
Nose and toes, ******* and eyes all regularly poetically,
Cherished,
Now I have knuckled under
And competed a full poetic body scan
And have paid tribute to each n'every part of you,
Even your knuckles...which I am busy kissing
While writing this poem in my distracted mind.

June 1st
Just now.