Touching you slipping fingers between your thighs to hold the cluster of grapes whose skin is frail as 5 AM light - the stem thrusts hard from them - I do not know how my hand feels. Your mouth gentle as a cat's muzzle at my nipple your hand brushing my brusque fur to find the limpet of my sex - they do not know how their feel touches. Holding you and as much held each of us fingers a song - the keys pressed black and white - yet we are deaf to the chords of our own hands which only the other can hear. |