Don Pesavento

Massage

Your fingers whisper secrets to my body
naked unashamed and listening to taboos
their foreign tongues reveal;
soft syllables of hands
murmured in dark, sand-castle corridors
tunneled damp through wet skin beaches;
your jazz fingers, playing my piano soul,
fanned Oriental, spread Peacock
concealing your mysterious lips,
your thumb, tasted in water dreams
your index, in utero, pointing at stars
middle, dipped in honeycomb
your ring, stung by bumblebee love
your pinky, aloof from espresso cups
your finger-paint rainbows of mist
arched above the Sistine Chapel sky,
fingers, kneading my muscle-lust
quicksilver through my hair
fingers of rain, crying tulip cheek tears,
silhouetting shadow puppets making love,
forming rabbit ears giving me the O.K.
your fingers of anger, double-flipping
me the bird, behind my back,
Peace-signing me V for victory
your red nail's talons, spurring derriere,
damming the lava sabers of my migraines
drawing Valentines on steamy windows,
your tambourine fingers, dancing gypsy
barefooted around your campfire desire,
fingers of lightning, flashing before thunder.