The Morning After

I remembered your hands this morning,
The way you let your fingers run down my neck,
Self-conscious of their effect on me.
They would make their way down my spine,
My back curling to them, awakened.
Meld my flesh to your fingerprints.

I remembered the taste of your fingertips,
The dip of your palm, the folding effect
Of your skin - How it would pulsate against mine.
I know them and the roughness off your calloused,
Hard working hands. I loved the grazing of you,
The warmth of your skin.

You let your hands bloom in mine,
Opened up your fingers, spread your palm
To let me take hold of you, to memorize
The swirls and lines of you. I loved the sensation of you,
The aftershock of your devotion.

The sun creaked through the cracks
Of my blinds this morning and I remembered
You and your touch, your hands and
The creases I would lose myself in,
That I traced endlessly.

I awoke to only one ******* 
In bed today,
And none for me
To service.

why should i remember
to call you papi
or say te amo
when you can barely
remember my name

in the middle of my days,
in the most random
mundane times,
i find myself
deep in thoughts of you

my mind,
a portrait
of us

my heart,
a garden
where i tend to our roots

i am cautious
not to
snip at the buds
just let them grow and grow
and
grow

to know your skin
is to know the turmoil of creation
you are the visceral
the primal roar
urging its way out

i will shape you
mold you out of sand
draw your pleasure out
and ruin your salvation

you've given me a taste
so now i'll sniff out your blood
and crawl my way over
and snarl and scratch at you
and feast on your flesh

You are marble mouthed.
I used to curl my ear
Around your lips,
Conched in, to hear
The delicate manner
In which you spoke of me.
You coddled my name
On your tongue, separate
From the others held in there,
Pressed tight against the cushion
Of your cheek, so that
I'd never have to find them.