his knuckles,
folded,
untucked the tag
from the heat
of the back
of his neck
and I shivered.
how intimate,
the curl of his fingers
over the pulp
of his own flesh.
I wanted
to dance my lips
against his soil skin
but instead I
pressed them together
bit my tongue the color
of his blooming cheeks
and shivered
in silence.
Macy has been in love with language for as long as she can remember. She specializes in lyrical and spoken word poetry, and after high school plans to major in creative writing and become an editor.