I give thanks
for the way my fingertips learn,
their sensitivity.
I make them walk along your body.
Your thighs are soft
with excess flesh, coarse with hair;
your hips, hard mountains
of skin stretched taut over bone;
your jaw-line, a jagged border
protected by sharp soldiers
that bend, but do not break,
beneath my touch, and make me tickle.
Your lips, and eyes,
are moist and deep, like the ocean.

You are my world,
utopia;
I choose to inhabit you, to haunt you.
Where I reside,
I am protected from the elements,
safe from harm,
I am sheltered, kept warm and happy.
I would live nowhere else
but in your heart.