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
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