Chinadoll

I remember your hands

and their journeys

firm and sure

they planed my hips

smoothing thighs

to abandonment

you touched my eyes

asleep

as if you could see

the visions of want

in my dream

rimming my lips of the taste

lingering from my last meal,

(sometimes you)

your hands haunt me

like ghosts of themselves

where once, you would need

to feel the pressure of us

now,

you pick me up like fine china

pressing my hands to your lips

as if sipping tea

treat me as iron and marble

pound and polish me

until I beg for no more