you rest on a pillow,
recline into my lap, shake your head back and forth.
i can't tell if you're nestling in or asking for something.
for two and 1/2 hours i am free to touch:
my fingers scratch your scalp,
winding through chlorine hair.
tips swirl and my knuckles sneak along your skin.
as if the air is suddenly viscous,
i pull slowly, thrilled behind an innocent exterior.
my smallest finger grows weary, makes an excuse
to rest on the soft skin along your hairline.
i let the warmth bounce back and forth
between these subtle surface areas.
did you feel me pressing tenderness to your forehead?
or sliding passion through the strands?
you wondered when you would see me again.
that is enough of an answer.
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