Dear Curious Hands

Dear Curious Hands,

Your fingers are creased with time and determination.

Your palms have rough patches like a cat’s tongue, from hard work,

and your knuckles have deep cracks like the uneven concrete.

You slip around my waist to find a comfortable spot near my hips.

Tingling with curiosity, you glide up and search for tender breasts.

Embracing and fondling with the slightest of ease

to find the right mound to rest upon for only a moment.

You slide down to my tummy and then on to the familiar curve of my pelvic bone

and settle in the little valley there.

You cruise to the roundest part of my butt.

Lightly stroking you walk up the steps of my spine and caress my neck until

I melt between your fingers.

Yours truly,

Melted