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dear sensuality: i miss you-- especially the way you'd step behind me, slide your arms beneath mine and push them down onto the desk beneath your fingers turn the vulnerable forearms inward and with your nails scrape shivering lines so lightly up the golden skin, make my stomach strive to outdo ropes in its rigging skill (knotty, knotty boy me); the way the white half-moons skated back, forth, back forth across the expanses where my skin is palest (and most defenseless) til i shuddered, before finally tapping your way up into my palms, turning them over, blanketing my hands with yours and firmly, lovingly (so lovingly) curl my fingers