Oh, But Your Hand

There Your hand That exquisite, sexy little hand I reach, oh so slowly My index finger extended lazily But with enigmatic intent and subtle grace (Like Michelangelo's Adam on the Sistine Chapel ceiling ... Desperate for the touch of God) I softly touch your thumb, and there is an electric shiver Not static or reaction or even a spark But rather the gentlest of vibrations of skin rubbing skin The hairs on the back of your hand stand up And I know, when you don't pull away That you like what I'm doing ... that I can continue I increase my pressure just slightly, and slide Running my finger along the soft inside of your thumb Up and over the tip, pausing playfully at your bright pink, shiny nail Then down the inside slant to the fleshy notch there I run my fingertip tenderly back-and-forth (With a similar motion and intent that I hope to use in more secret places) Then I push it slowly into the space below And you turn over your hand, palm up The ends of your fingers tremble and quiver And I know you're anticipating me ... Wondering what is next ... I pause for a moment, to let your mind spin Then I trace around the edges, up and over each finger Down between the spaces, pressing on the warm skin that connects them And when I reach the base of your pinky I softly, slowly, tenderly, with the care of a first kiss Work my fingertip to the sublime soft-center of your palm First making tiny circles there And then writing sexy words in cursive Writing in love's language the things we'll soon be doing ... together As a final touch, I withdraw my hand and put my finger gently in my mouth When it's sufficiently moistened and shiny I return it slowly to your palm And make a final, sweet, small, sexy circle of wet ... The period to the torrid tale I've written there The story of what we'll soon be sharing In soft, silky skin and sighs ... And moonlight. Submitted on May 1, 2020 To the "Strand No 740, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest Brian Strand, Sponsor.