Bathe Him In Fingertips

Fingertips play upon your skin An oiled caress of tranquility Tea lights dancing like fluted whims Relieving the days hostility Your muscles bound in tensions vice Neath kneading hands must yield Surrender now you braids of strife By my tempered force to heal My hands pause in deep listening Over the landscape of your ravaged terrain Anointing oils of clove left glistening My touch the oasis for your pain Your body ignored too long for touch These hands hold a vocabulary of moves To soften all those hardened edges When flesh cries out to be smoothed Like watercolor poetry you melt With moans to be envied by lovers Nurturing pleasure and comforts pelt With emotions yet to discover Pressing lightly upon your temples Bathing my fingertips in your hair I hear you sigh with slightest tremble The sullen purging of buried cares Such love is this received Unmatched but by its giver For no rapture given nor ache relieved Then to love him with the tips of my fingers