A palm coasts along the softness
senses tingle in expectation
soon the hand-craft finds the warmth
and lands
I am right there with each one
in the backs and in the knuckles
I am not my head, I am my hands
on you
There is a rattle, a subtle shake
I think we’ve found our place
There comes a signal, a growl within
I think we’ve found our perfect place
Into, into, within
all around the edges
across the surface
exploring, imploring
they toil on…
I am right there with each one
in the tips, and in the nails
I am not my head, I am my fingers
in you…
[2011]
Thanks for reading.
The Lighthouse 