Every night I read in braille
My finger starts in the crook of her elbow
Traveling backwards to the rough, raised parts of it.
She skinned them often. And who kissed it then?
The inside of her arms are down tender.
It must be why I'm warm in them,
Why you don't live next door because
Your winters are neverending
So you claim Santa lives there.
And the ice will give her lumbago.
I'd be around to kiss her there--
Where two dimples demarcate the swells of her,
Bisected by her spine which look like
A smiley face when she's lying on my lap,
On her side and I am staring at her back
Bare as it is humid in the southern hemisphere.
Traveling backwards to the rough, raised parts of it.
She skinned them often. And who kissed it then?
The inside of her arms are down tender.
It must be why I'm warm in them,
Why you don't live next door because
Your winters are neverending
So you claim Santa lives there.
And the ice will give her lumbago.
I'd be around to kiss her there--
Where two dimples demarcate the swells of her,
Bisected by her spine which look like
A smiley face when she's lying on my lap,
On her side and I am staring at her back
Bare as it is humid in the southern hemisphere.