By john
Date: 13 October 2000

tell me what you feel.

She lies face down,
soft skin, almost a mercurial hue in the moonlight.
I place my palms mere millimetres from her,
now slowly, moving slowly, from the base of her spine
inching upwards to her shoulders, never touching,
just the warmth of her and the warmth of me, mingling,
like equatorial ocean currents,
my hands can only follow,
taken away, ebb and flow, down again,
then with one finger tracing lightly at pace over the bumpy terrain
that curves and is her spinal column,
to the hairline at her neck,
watching the goosebumps, raising in their hundreds,
all along her arms.
The night is only young,
There is much for me to map along your intricate geography and
men are so bad at asking directions, so, at any time my love,
please tell me what you feel.