Freehand

When it's late in the night
And we've had a hard day
When words are exhausted
From all we would say

While sitting in silence
I know you are weak
Your body the language
By which you speak

We sit on the sofa
The lights are dimmed low
A log fire burning
Your warming skin glows

Arms over your shoulders
As my fingers brush
Your skin is the canvas
So soft and lush

My finger tips paint
So gently they flow
On your skin tracing words
Each one you know

Though we are still silent
We're both saying so much
When love is the language
And ink is the touch