The Poetry of My Skin

I tried reading his lips

written in foreign phrases

in a language mysterious and alluring;

hands pulling my hips

quickly becoming fluent in his kiss

and in perfect rhythm


his fingertips

Our skin touches. Something's

rubbing off on me;

His body speaks through


thirst strumming in his eyes

A piece of you stays with me

when you take leave

every time your hands

touch me you are poetry

written onto my


In beautiful cursive script

I am making my body

the braille that only your touch

can decipher

that your mind alone understands

and only you

will see

the whole world need not be

literate of me.