skin

I like

physicality,

watching the slow shift of muscles,

the swing of hair across my face.

I even, perversely, like

the swellings in my ankles,

in my wrists.

I like

the way collarbones look,

ridged, under my thumb, my mouth.

the way shoulders shrug, when my cheekbone is against them.

I like

the way skin feels, the give under my teeth,

my tongue, my fingers,

the faint taste of salt.

I trace the shapes of fingertips,

of tongues, of bones, of bodies,

of skin, of muscles and shoulders and hair,

I like

to watch things, to describe them,

to set myself apart with my words,

but I like

the shifts, the swings and swellings,

the ridges and the salt,

the skin,

I like,

physicality.