Touching you slipping fingers between your thighs to hold the cluster of grapes whose skin is frail as 5 AM light - the stem thrusts hard from them - I do not know how my hand feels. Your mouth gentle as a cat's muzzle at my nipple your hand brushing my brusque fur to find the limpet of my sex - they do not know how their feel touches. Holding you and as much held each of us fingers a song - the keys pressed black and white - yet we are deaf to the chords of our own hands which only the other can hear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE HOLY NATIVITY [OF OUR LORD GOD]; AS SUNG BY SHEPHERDS by RICHARD CRASHAW THE VOICE OF THE BANJO by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR TIMES GO BY TURNS by ROBERT SOUTHWELL YARROW UNVISITED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THESEUS AND ARIADNE by FRANCIS BEAUMONT |