I want to know the nape of your neck.
Those two great muscles that hold up your too heavy head.
I want to wrap my fingers through you’re just a little too long or a little too short curls.
I want to know the geometric shapes of your face.
I want to close my eyes and feel along the hills and valleys of your face.
My eyes know it’s shape,
But my hands,
My hands are the ones that yearn to know.
But I’m scared.
Scared that if I ever dared to touch
My finger tips would burn.
Scald off like the old version of me
Who fell away a long time ago.
Still I want to know.