Dancing Half Shadows

 You Are The Poem

Your skin is cursive; it flows under my fingers like ink from a pen, connecting letters into words

Your lips are punctuations; pressed together they are dots at the edge of my thoughts and parting they exclaim loudly with laughter

Your hands are verse; intricate and long, the knuckles interlock and follow one to other, reaching out for me across the bed

You are the poem; written in skin, printed in flesh, spoken by the world

You inhabit my ears and my eyes and my head and my heart.