Poetica Spontenaium 8.13.03
Into my left hand
I carved your name.
Nail to palm, pausing at the wrist
Vein quietly beneath the skin
Leading to the source of my affection
The lines curved naturally
and arose soft, in welcome
to the presence of you there
in thought and memory.
I rubbed the scratch
valley and hill,
callous and knuckle
against each other
warm in a wish and whisper
your love gliding between
soft like almond oil.
Blowing a kiss there
In the cup of my fingers
Intentions only sweet.
To hold me over
Hands clasped quietly in devotion
Till next we meet.
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