if you could hear my fingertips
upon your wounded skin
youd stand in drafted simple shock
at self and soul and sin
of simple pleasures long held on
to bank all that we think
in long instructed solitude
smeared sharp in devils ink
and in small space of freedoms now
and gently tugging light
youd scrape right back in soft sweet
hope
found just: in lovers sight.
I have heard your fingertips – your like of my post tthe spirit of adventure doubled your love. Thank you!