August 2020

by  Robert Tustin

My fingers gently glide

round her body's many curves

then slowly journey

up with no real purpose

other than the joy of touching on

a thing touched, untouched before.

With a lingering backhand I brush

just past her lightly

freckled cheek before taking

a more calloused pass past

the satin warmth of those two

recently kissed and oh so inviting

slightly parted rosy lips.

Upwards my hand ventures

but soon ceases its wandering.

It's then one inquisitive nail bitten forefinger

hesitantly comes forward, points at her temple

as one more prone to wonder

less about the surface of a thing than

the wisdom within.