to a real poet--s.k.

i like the way your hands creep up behind me
my skin laughs at your tender taming touch
you are family and of the same care
your hands are nature's gift and do belong everywhere they go
know what they want
on my neck they tell stories of world travels
down the bumpy road of my spine they detour
chancing reality and taking in the scenery on all sides of this mountain
i stand
and somehow i can stand not letting out a scream
a whimper
not letting my head fall too dramatically to the front or the back
this is not a public affair
and i say to you i knew it would be this way
sweet like in childhood when i longed for whipped cream,
scooped it up with one finger and devoured delight whole
and always came back for more
and the more your fingers lingered, crawled, created home for you
on me
the better i knew that your eyes have seen me whole before
and i do not doubt we have come to this spot where we stand
soft hand in soft hand