T's Favorite Part

T's Favorite Part

A cute little slope,
a fine bridge
in a solid face.

Kissable.

I think
of you
and the teasing
tickling brush of your touch
against
the tender
private
flesh
just behind my ear
as you breathe me in.

A touch so intimate,
that it only happens
between close friends
and fond lovers.

This part of you
cruelly denied it's poetry
in favor of odes exalting
your pillar thighs
and jutting cock,
your broad back
and gemstone eyes.
A refined nose forgotten,
amongst all the praise.

Maybe it longs
for words
not kisses.

So I slide my black ink pen
across the paper
lining up letters against
a crisp blue base line
in my composition notebook.

If all your senses
start to fail and fall away
keep this one
to better help you find me
in the dark,
when I am hiding
and longing to be found.

Keep it,
so that you will know me:
the warm scent of my skin,
the shy curve behind my knee,
the fragrance of my hair,
the tiny fingertip touch of sandalwood oil that I have hidden
on the inside of my left ankle
for you to find.

A secret puzzle.
An invitation
to my body
and myself.

A scent that speaks
for me,
what I cannot say in words,
that asks for exploration
and offers everything.