This skin I caress is new to me,
Each pore and freckle,
Even down to the lithe little hairs,
Almost invisible,
That rise at my slow trace
As if to cheer me on to
Further finger falls as my
Meander passes from shoulder
To neck, my eyes tumbling
Across the lines in her lips,
Dimples in her chin and
Arches and concurves of nose,
The roll of her cheeks but
To slide back into her eyes
That watch me back,
Predicting my path and
Sometimes slightly widened
When not so canny,
But mostly content to be perused
As I remember her newness.
