I run my fingertips
over the soft skin
between my ribs
and hip. The divot,
the place where your hands
touched.

Wondering
if this is what you felt
this smooth, warm skin
pulsing underneath your palms.
How could you not crave
the way my chest falls and rises
the curls of my hair wrapping
around your fingers. My lips
lingering on your collarbone.
I trace the line of my chin
imagining what your hands touched,
what our kiss
felt like on your mouth
so delicate, so perfect
it makes me sick.