the tips of my fingers
the bedroom was lit only by the amber
flame of candles and the shy smile hidden on
your face
you stood facing the antique full-length
mirror
i stood behind you, whispering things
i liked about your body as i undressed you
as each garment fell to the floor, the
tips of my fingers had more skin to explore
the tips of my fingers caressed your face,
lightly as a butterfly’s touch,
tracing the line of your cheekbones,
finding the hollow of your temples as i kissed your neck,
then falling to trace the supple curves of your
lips
i whispered gently into your ear
how perfect you were–in that
moment,
a goddess, a statue of Venus
come to life, to be
with me
the tips of my fingers danced across your
shoulders and down your arms,
as i pulled you closer to me
my hands found your stomach and pulled
you firmly against my body
my fingers then moved upward
as you watched
i began to whisper how
i wanted you, needed
you
all the things i
was going to do
to you
with my hands, mouth,
body, voice
you were, at last, nude–
reflected by candlelight in the mirror,
that same light dancing in your eyes and
mine
i slowly turned you to face me,
savoring every curve as you turned, the
tips of my fingers drawing your
face to mine
and we kissed
and you said
take me
to bed