When we are
dancing close and slow
And the world looks away,
I like to touch the parts of you that I cannot see.
The wisp that curls down from your
hairline,
The line drawn below it by your
neck.
The angles of your
shoulder blades,
The
small of your back as it flares to your
hips.
When you are
sitting in my lap and
the sun is melting into the ocean's horizon,
I love to touch the parts of you that I cannot see.
The spiral of your
ear,
The ripple of your small
smile.
The umbra of your
breasts,
The length of your
thighs.
When distance
sequesters you away and
Its haze draws between us,
I need to touch the parts of you that I cannot see.
Your image is too much for my
mind to hold,
It fades as a
dream might, as perhaps it is.
My
heart's vision is poor, but its memory is strong.
It still knows what it is to touch the parts of you that I cannot see.
Direct your slings and arrows to the author