Let me trace these tips upon your skin.
Let me paint my adoration in
You recline a pallid canvas meant for
the talent of tender strokes,
and my watercolor longing
moves my fingers to their purpose,
looping translucent runes into
your newly fallen snow.
Let me trace these graces in your
send ripples of delicate magic
through your shivering, shifting planes.
Let me darken, drawl these shadows
over your luminous skin
and honor with these invoked shudders
your disarming air of beauty.
Let me lace your shape in these,
the faintest brush of fall-fell leaves:
just the touch of fingertips,
all the weakness, all the strength
such lovely charms allow me
when beckoned by these formless lips.