Amnesiac Skin

Lacking the memory and print
of hands,
your body moves through
junctures of unrequited
lust
and moments of musk
meant to cloy and snare.

Your scented skin,
amnesiac blank,
devoid of the crimson
glow of lust,
struggles to recall anxious
fingers fondling
wistful thighs
and swollen lips that
mumble surrender.

Your heaving breasts
yearn for the scorching
ghosts of firm hands
that grasp and slide,
conjuring phantom
lips that sip and suckle.

Lost in your fabrication,
wisps of hands still hold
and caress your body,
apparitions that devour
and consume your
trembling hunger.

Ghostly hands, grasping
air in bony curling fingers,
trap false memory, each
spectral tremor of
arousal, thin and transparent,
a haunted lust, relived,
and thrashed through
endlessly.

Your eyes, and body without
imprint or recollection
of musk moments,
moves through unrequited
lust,
and is left abandoned to
apparitions that leave
transparent prints on your
amnesiac skin