By Claudia Maschke
I am on your mind
massaging your thoughts.
My sweet, coconutty scent
lap dancing on your memory.
My curves, trimmed with your thought pattern
your palms itch with reminiscence.
I am too often on your mind.
Your fingertips tingle longingly for the reamalgamation of our skins
as yearning traces your heartbeat, pulsating through you.