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
