Thin Lips

He traces the veins on the back of my hand

with a bone-white finger.

Runs his hand up the inside of  my arm,

the flesh leans away like the parting of the seas.

Kisses the inside of my elbow

with lips as thin as string.

Lifts my sagging breasts,

of moon-translucent skin.

I stroke his thin gravelly hair

and feel the nearness of his skull.

His touch between my legs

is as familiar as it once was strange.

‘Sweet Little Sixteen’

he murmured in my ear the very first time

when our hands and lips

did not know the way,

when love was rough and rushed

and we thought we knew it all.

When once we jived

to raw and ragged music

now we waltz

to a tune as familiar as the wind.