Nectarine

I want the touch of a man 

who is a raindrop in the ocean.

He speaks in tongues and writes 

in dead languages that only I can 

understand

he hides his lover like a 

pagan goddess spilling secrets

from the palm of her hand

that is the kind of touch 

I want from a man, the

fingers that peel back the

skin and the teeth that 

race to devour the 

sweetness within

I want the touch of a man

who can recognize sin,

he waltzes through lobbies like

a politician

his humility sings like

arrogance his confidence 

a conjoined twin, oh I 

want the touch of a man 

like him, who wagers his

courage on a coin-flip spin.