smooth hands. rough hands. dark hands. pale hands.
the feel of their hands caressing the frightened skin of mine must be the most satisfying feeling ever.
each finger trailed each curve, each quirk on my body with a burning passion and appreciation.
they'd go over my cheekbones, my eyebrows, my lips, and that unspoken of birthmark that only my mother has seen.
nothing has been untouched.
nothing on my body hasn't been claimed as their's.
over and under my thighs they'd go, down to my calves and shin, leading to my biggest insecurity.
their fingers gripped the soft fabric of my sock, pulling it off ever-so-slowly.
between each toe, their print was left.
under my foot, where it tickled the most, their hands felt.
they led their hands back up to my face.
they cupped my cheeks and said,
"you are mine."
- miya
