My fingertips caress your smooth skin and I quiver; sleek, luster, glass.
The curve of your body is in motion; Fluid, plastic, bend.
You are pliable; fire, melt, burn.
My hands are eager for connection; rough, friction, texture.
I am overwhelmed by the strength of your body; hard, solid, resilient.
I choose to touch you; sharp, pain, blood.
You can destroy, you can be destroyed; frail, balance, confident.
Your many faces bleed color; beauty, age, destruction.
Your beauty grows with time; Time is our friend.
Marie Williams
thinkingthroughmakingsourcebook 