This skin, he says
Fingertips trace the surface,
flirt with a loose strand of hair, brush it away
return to the groove of the neck
I want to shower you with so much love that…
The open window. Life scatters in:
5 p.m. traffic, the dusky haze of a setting sun, quiet rustling of the pine trees outside
a faint smell of chips
let it replenish the good in you, let it fill the graves of disappointments, just give in and grow out
of the pain and sorrow from those who shunned you.
I want to shower you with so much love that it heals you.