You caress my palms, kissing the ridges of my knuckles
With the sweet tenderness of peaches hanging under the sun.
Your tongue is a river rock smoothed over
By torrents of stream-water, turned pink by the subtle heartbeat
Of escalating pulsations from thumb-tip to chest.
Your lips are the gentle puckering catfish upon my neck,
Tickling veins like spindle-legged crayfish.
Your eyes bore softly into mine like melting rivulets,
Blue-rushing, meeting a freckle of green and flecks of hazel,
Laid upon me like the blanket I had when I was three,
Teasing me like a feather flirting with grasses on the bank.
Your fingers embrace the small dip of my ankle, motionless against skin.
Your body is a poem, speaking louder than your tongue,
Forming sonnets with your spine and simple words, saying “I adore you.”
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
You caress my palms, kissing the ridges of my knuckles
With the sweet tenderness of peaches hanging under the sun.
Your tongue is a river rock smoothed over
By torrents of stream-water, turned pink by the subtle heartbeat
Of escalating pulsations from thumb-tip to chest.
Your lips are the gentle puckering catfish upon my neck,
Tickling veins like spindle-legged crayfish.
Your eyes bore softly into mine like melting rivulets,
Blue-rushing, meeting a freckle of green and flecks of hazel,
Laid upon me like the blanket I had when I was three,
Teasing me like a feather flirting with grasses on the bank.
Your fingers embrace the small dip of my ankle, motionless against skin.
Your body is a poem, speaking louder than your tongue,
Forming sonnets with your spine and simple words, saying “I adore you.”
