Light Touch

my fingers ... are moonbeams and like that porcelain light I let them dance upon you, bare - tiptoe across your shy places with a delicate (but intent) adoration ... many, the times they've made this dermal sojourn yet each is as if the first - softer, sweeter, sure that the journey is as savory as it’s end each inch, it's own mystery ... here-and-there your flesh jumps and rises as you coo and sigh - little bumps follow that spread to the rest of you like moonlite spattering the sea … but your sea is mine - beneath my touch ... deeper darker warmer and where I long ... to drown. Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, December 29, 2022