Making love with a poem,

you come too close to watch

the eyes.  You smell
the hands, you listen

for the pulse, the opening
of pores, the stiffening
of the hairs along the wrist.

You slip inside like breath
and like a skin it wears your fingers
in its guts, its fingers take

your shape unwrinkling
just in reach of your soft
teeth and your flirtatious tongue.