your exploratory fingertips—
with a heart and mind of their own—
trace each indentation of my hands
with the upmost degree of tenderness
and wondrous, boyish fascination.
they weave to and fro,
wrapping my small hands
with an invisible thread of longing,
pulling tighter with each caress.
you make sleep less appealing
here in this nighttime Narnia,
please stay here just a moment more
[good grief, i adore your hands].