he reaches up and wipes away the caramel from my top lip with his thumb.

the ridges of his fingerprint brush against my skin like fire, and i almost drop my sundae.

i want to grab his hand and examine it. what is it about this chunk of lightly calloused flesh and metacarpals that makes my thoughts melt out of my ears; drip on my knees?

he is warm and he is oblivious, but i guess i should thank him.

my kneecaps know what love is, now.