Nik Boyd
Fingertips touched or stroked
upon the skin of the world
and my
love's form,
and willing and surrendered
into a swoon of sensate
touch.
Her fingers entwined in mine
and found wanting
and wantonly
directing
my touch to her lips
and back again to fingertips,
and
grasping hands with strength,
and gripped with just
so much
understanding.
Have far can my reach extend?
And, how much dare I grasp?
And
then, what can I behold,
and grasp to hold
and use again?
Feet planted and bodies
swaying and swooning
and felt, but not
saying:
no words can possibly
express our grasp of the facts
as much
as this our love
pressed skin to skin,
thus heartened and hottened
our mouths and tongues
entwined and speechless.
My nerves rush and sing
with 'lectric fires
that thrum and ring,
ev'ry pad lit with hot spots
that light in turn
the skin they touch
upon.
If any (other) language
intervened,
it would befuddle
our felt
understanding,
found coupled to
these fleshy forms
so well
formed
and fitted just so.