your fingertips
to me
are more than flesh.
they speak
of how we
arrived here;
from shy and
to eager animals
with fire
under our nails.
it is no wonder
we still retain hope,
that our fingertips
aren’t calloused and
in the early dawn,
we spend hours
tracing each other’s bodies;
single, graceful lines
with delicate fingertips
of fire.