We spend so much time looking at faces,
Sparkling blue eyes like icicles
Dripping from rooftops,
Lips curved like crimson brushstrokes
Chins formed like the rugged edge of a cliff
But we don't talk about the quiet parts of ourselves,
The line that God drew down our backs
That separates the halves of our whispered dimesnsions,
Like how I want to stand beside him and let our arms brush sleeve against sleeve,
Maybe pinky against pinky
Because in this I feel wanted
And how you want to touch my arms
And my shoulders
And my neck
And all the space of my back
Because in my skin you feel wanted