In the nook behind the elbow, where a touch is prehistoric sign
as any inaudible murmur,
is the analysis of skin our forefathers directed
their passionate research on nature’s call,
hovered over by sparkly tinkerbell fairies.
Close to it are the lightest, softest hairs piqued
upon a kiss, is dampened by tangled words
spoken through a look, marrying desire in a white dress
with strands touching your body’s lines
spreading, never hesitating, never knowing
~~when, where, why or how,~~
like threads of love.
