The eyes follow the veins on your forearms,
captivated by their snaking, charming motion,
enchanted by the river deltas
hollowed out below your hallowed skin
a dance of oxygen carved beneath your flesh.
They caress, from a delicate distance,
slender, slight, and swaying,
elegant in their economy.
The arms envy the eyes' abandon--
who drink you, shamelessly--
while they, hanging impotent,
long to wrap themselves around your waist
as the face nestles into the small of your back
The fingers want to brush your eyelashes--
impossibly light, like a butterfly's wings,
fluttering their soft color constantly--
and feel the scales lift off them,
as they tremor in response to human touch.
The eyes seek your gaze,
the molded curve of your temple,
the line of the muscles in your neck,
the clean arc of your nose,
the quiver in your hands,
the clear, smooth skin of your brow,
each golden strand of hair--
but mostly your gaze,
and the clear sky-colored light
caught in your eyes.
The heart cannot help but beat
a different rhythm when it is nearer yours,
and want to leap across the boundary
of sundering flesh and inert air,
but knows--the way the mind does not--
that cannot be.