Maturity

Burnished by the hands of time
(oh how I wish those hands were mine)
Your skin reveals the inner you
Of what you’ve done, a glowing view,
That rivals youths’ perfected skin
Which hides a blandness deep within.
Maturity, no childish giggles,
Nervousness, and awkward wriggles,
Rather more a welcoming,
To touch, and read your living skin.

And when I’ve read all that’s in store,
You know I’ll want to read some more,
I’ll lick and thumb the pages’ skin
To know your story, deep within.
For well you know, my one desire,
To burn my hands on your sweet fire,
Your skin reveals the inner you
Of what you’ve done, a glowing view.