Enclosed in the unstamped envelope of my skin
a seven-page essay typed last night on your skin.
My hands cannot surprise and so tickle my soles.
Miracles have to come from outside of my skin.
If one spear misses, number two will find its mark.
The scalp is but another name for human skin.
You have heard the unceasing roar of waterfalls.
You have not heard the volume of my lover’s skin.
The state of Earth is not more softly draped with air
than my love’s testicles are swaddled with his skin.
And where his skin is whirled and sucked into his ass,
dive in, and soft skin will caress softer skin.
As for your cock, Jee won’t address its voiceless suit
until he has declared himself on all your skin.