I could build monuments to your skin alone, statues Lilliputians, would never do. The first time you took my hand in yours, a window opened to the softness that lay beneath your buttoned blouse. For three solid weeks I dreamed of bursting through the doors that stood between me and your skin. I plotted, planned and diagrammed exactly what I would do, what I would say to make my way in.
But each time after a good nights kiss, my courage withdrew and I missed my chance. Alone I could brave your sly smile, alone I dared to meet your immeasurable gaze, and alone I knew your body better than I knew my own.
Together, with you next to me, your smile paralyzes while your eyes silence. I’m a mute in your presence. If I cannot speak I cannot tell you how much I want your skin to put out the flames you ignite in my finger tips. How much I want to bury my fingers into your cool skin and beyond.
My fingers, travelers and your skin a wild frontier, your body a landscape I hope build a home on and live forever. But my words have run dry; my parched mouth is helpless around your beguiling wilderness.
I say nothing. I don’t have to. I meet your mercurial gaze, my eyes betray my thoughts. You unbutton your blouse, placing my hand upon your breast, the fire I longed for you to put out, blazes on.