My Hands Long For More.

My hands long for
more than labor and drudgery,
they thirst for the discovery
of the wilderness of your body,
and long to ride the soft
current of your streams.

My hands long to see more
than chores and scraping toil,
they hunger for the taste of spices,
of cloves and nutmeg, and dream
of breathing in the vanilla
dust of your desire.

My hands long to consume more than
hopes and promises,
they yearn to run their lips and
tongue down the lines and
heave of your rolling tenderness
and to sip the heated liquid of your lust

My hands long to swallow more than
necessity and commitment,
they ache and throb
for the cool gulp of your hips and
the warm sting of your thighs

My hands long to devour more
than days and distance,
they yearn for the sea of your body,
to drown themselves in the depth
of your endless embrace.

My hands wish for more than
the clay and loam of this world
they dream of the ghosts of wonder
that slumber in your breasts,
and long to end their time
in the fire and embers that smolder
in the palm of your hands.