Chinadoll

I remember your hands and their journeys, firm and sure they planed my hips, and smoothed thighs to abandonment you touched my eyes asleep, as if you could see the visions of want in my dream, rimming my lips of the taste lingering from my last meal, (sometimes you) your hands haunt me like ghosts of themselves where once, you would need to feel the pressure of us now, you pick me up like fine china and press my hands to your lips as if sipping tea treat me as iron and marble pound and polish me until I beg for no more