erotic yearnings

I.
I collect paintbrushes:
they traverse, dip across your
shoulder blades
trailing inkblot lover’s scrawls.
my tongue a stipple brush
fanned wide.

II.
we slip against each other
my palm in the crook
of your elbow, our
rasping knuckles a
singular torment.
you are a puddle
on the day I wear no-friction shoes.