fractured weave

i only keep my hand

longer on your face

across your neck

on the small of your back

in hope

that my hands remember this

this feeling

for i have tried before

running my fingers and hand

across my face, closing my eyes

imagining

it is your hand, your fingers

it never feels the same

how does my very own hand

and my very own fingers

betray me so

my very own extensions

mocking my inadequacy

what does your hand have

what do your fingers do 

that is so special

what you hold

what you hold

is a spell

written in lead

i want to be that pencil

that you hold

in your hand

your fingers wrapped around me

with a purpose

leading me

me a pencil

and your fingers, together taut

in a slow tango

across the ballroom of lined paper

or even blank

how does that matter

it does not

not one bit

all that matters

is that we dance

we dance and not stop

right now

right now

i want to rip my clothes off

rip them off

and get on the floor

on my four

arch my back

and stretch my neck

and raise my face

facing you

my moon

my very own special moon

the rising of you

raising an animal

inside me

like a beast

not harmful or vicious

one just led by his instincts

his instincts ruled over

by your scent

the scent of the moon

the scent of the moon

you

i raise my head and howl

i howl

begging you

to fill me up

with your scent

these moonbeams

are paths made by your scent

teasing me

telling me

to follow them

that they would lead me to you

so i follow

i howl and i follow

you are up there

aren't you

looking down

from your celestial box

looking at this man beast

less a man more a beast

every passing minute

not one that is vicious

or malicious

just following

your scent

the scent of the moon