Saturday, January 14, 2017

Warning

This poem contains skin,
lots and lots of skin. The skin
this poem contains is soft; it’s tan
everywhere except there and there
and a little bit there. Please be aware
that this poem also has hands – handsy
hands that know the difference between
the need to caress and a caress that kneads.
The hands this poem contains come complete
with fingers for touching and tracing the skin –
about which you’ve already been warned. Know,
though, that these fingers are not only for touching
and tracing the aforementioned skin. No, these fingers
also explore gently, eagerly, the deep inside of a lover’s
imagination, a lover within whose breasts breathe wanton
breaths between kisses long and wet as the arousal of a lover
whose skin loves skin.


First appeared in Vayavya

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