Shoulders

My fingers pace
the gradients of your skin that dip and ascend
outlining the perimeter of your stature,
the creases that chronicle your fleeting aches,
around your eyes, elaborate patterns of transient joy,
the contours of your neck, prison marks etched by former lovers, 
the oblique lines sewn like thread into your features
pressing your limbs together to form contortions,
mimicking bronze sculptures.

Time clips my tongue
and it curls in on itself.
I'm maddened by hunger
but as it surges,
fills the tiny nerves
enclosed in the structure of my sinews,
your shoulders hold me in place.