| I dream your hands on paper and blackest need on purest white while violent slashes of desire are softened smudged by the edge of your palm fingerprints appear like bruises on the page as I watch your hand move over my name I wake to your name in my mouth and the sweetest longing on the loneliest tongue while I move through the passage of the longest days bruised and grieving and crazy enough too sleep with your letters to pray for dreams of your hands to lick the backs of stamps and envelopes desperate for a taste of you. |
