my fingers trail.

his skin is:

a creamy mocha
a brown-golden

sun-aged crinkles
a glow-y burn

smooth like woven silk
rough crumpled paper

soft as velvet
hard like a firm pillow

sinewy muscles
all dips and curves

taut with strength
gentle in its laziness

as cool as steel
as hot as the sun

heated desires
searching, and of want

a trove of secrets
a delicious addiction

many stories experienced
poems yet unwritten

is his skin.

trail my fingers.