Leaving fingerprints on my soul,
your hands teach me.
Pressing through the imperfect skin of my reality
with slow fingertips that reach deep
so that I might know you beyond your weathered shell
necessarily tough to hold your own in the world.
With an outward appearance of the soft-skinned
naivete of youth.
The canyons of your fingerprints,
eroded by time and experiences uniquely yours
reveal the truth of your years.
trembling fingers listen carefully to the stories my scars tell.
Skimming the bends of my knees,
the hollow of my collarbone,
you fill crevices with kisses.
Always my optimist
showing me the most subtle curves of my body,
insignificant and invisible until now,
only now understanding their ability to hold
the knowledge of your love.
Fragments of time or space once taken for granted
now undeniably crucial to the education of my soul
guided carefully by your loving hands.
© 2001 by Michelle Ferris