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
Copyright © Sarai Virden | Year Posted 2013
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