Yeah, I’ve got the pictures in my head,
and plenty others tucked away in the fold of my wallet
but I want to see and feel so much more
of your skin.
More than the microscopic freckles
pouring across your forehead
and the tens of moles
cascading down your nose.
More than the scars on your wrists
from when you were fourteen
and as tragic as the acting on TGIF.
More than the stretch marks
that I see invisible, marking the sullen places
you have been. Those rivers of skin to travel.
An atlas that highlights all my future destinations.
More than the complex pigment,
a medium of pine and gold.
More than the faded hues
on your head, peppered and grey.
I want to see and feel and touch and breathe
even more than your greys.
Your grays. Your graze. Your grace.
More than you even know.