a strange distance
It is strange to me that I know the exact pattern
Of the hair scattered across your chest,
But not how it feels to lay my cheek against it and drift off to sleep.
Strange that I know the exact curve of your lips so well
That I could trace them onto vellum in my sleep,
I do not know how soft they might be under my own.
Strange that I can picture your arms,
Strong and inked and lightly brushed with hair,
And know the shape and shade of your tattoos as well as I know my own;
And yet not know the sensation of them around my shoulders,
Or the feel of the thrill that would run through you as my fingertips followed the lines of colour on your forearms.
I know the names of your pets
And the number of your siblings
And the music you enjoy
And the size of shirt you wear -
But not how you take your coffee.
This strange distance it seems has turned our intimacy upside down…
© mjc 14 August 2017