His fingers traced
the arch of my eyebrows,
massaged my earlobes,
and I told him nobody
had ever massaged
my earlobes before.
He whispered that there
were a million
unexplored nerve endings
inherent in an earlobe.
Then his fingers
lightly traced soft circles
around my mouth with
gently increasing pressure
mingled with brief
teasing kisses.
He was an actor,
said, "This is where you
hold tension around your mouth?
Relax, honey..."
and we talked about
his acting classes.
I wanted to be there,
to trace stranger's faces
as if reading their palms,
to experience that intimacy,
to know what he knew.
I thought about working
in labor and delivery, the
first time I felt a cervix
open like a blooming flower
to let a tiny new life through,
the thrill in telling the mom
I could feel the soft spot,
see the baby's dark hair;
I was the enlightened one.
I wonder if he had
an "aha" moment the
very first time he felt
the subtle nuances of a face,
could read an emotion
then emulate it on his
own handsome visage.
We laid together, side by side
and he spoke of chakras and
sealing in my energies with
his body heat after massage,
spoke of the intricacies of
tiny touches that most men
take for granted in favor
of cupping a breast in
their large hands.
Beneath his gentle touch,
the tension in my mouth
slowly transformed into
a soft smile--
a very soft smile.
