Porcelain Skin
Our eyes locked
Lip locked
Eye contact to the
Extreme
His hand, made from porcelain
Gently brushed
My olive freckles
Over high cheekbones
And crooked noses
Our eyes locked
Performing a tango of silent emotion
He whispered a gentle kiss
Over my lips
And his porcelain skin
Interlocking fingers with my own
Finished the dance
With a subtle dip.
This poem is about:
Me