Stories of Poetry and Vice Versa

Less than three.

My fingers dance across your skin
The warm expanse that it is
As if it takes that warmth to share.
And yet, it's been a month
Since my fingers have snuck the heat from your skin
And now, your skin is hotter.
The flames of that expanse lick my fingers
And my fingers take that warmth and thaw out.
This is so familiar, I think.
I know you and the vastness of your skin and yet
Not unwelcoming, definitely, but strange somehow
Almost like this skin has been untraveled
The twists and turns are the same but something is off for some reason.
It's been too long for me to remember all of you.
And my fingers are frozen
Your skin is flaming
Normally the equilibrium is infinitely better
But with so little time between balances
And so much balancing needed
Who knows where I'll go next?
Because I don't
I really am asking.
Where do you want me to go?