surface breaks

The hand that moves
across my skin
to touch my soul within
peels away
each tender fold
inviting me to sin.

So small a word
it is to say
that opens darkened doors
to pull me deep
so willingly
I step inside and fall.

The hands that flow
like water drops
refreshing never stop
offering
to least resist
untying every knot.

And so the clothes
fall easily
too easily it seems
never known
how much a need
lived and breathed in me.

Hands that find and
freely take
so greedily they feed
upon such prone
and motile limbs
so liberal is their seed.

With eyes that watch
the eyes that gaze
as I become unmade
a breath dissolves
a surface breaks
upon a sheet inlaid.

© Emmaleela