The Blemish

Beside you I lie and lean on my right arm--

My left hand massages the bare skin, so warm,

Of your back, until I notice a small charm

Of dark color there.

Did you know a mole is on your back, my dear?

It sits right where tail-bone meets the back, right here

Where you feel my finger--one place that's not clear,

So small, dark, and rare.

"What does it look like? Is it wrinkled and strange?

I can't see it--I'm afraid it's out of range

Of my field of sight. Will it grow? Will it change?

Does it have a hair?

"I'm glad you can't see it--that makes it all mine.

A small part of you alone--I'm sure it's benign--

That you can't see, but through me--a point, a line

To your everywhere.

"Rub my back some more and leave my moles alone.

And while usually I do not dare condone

My parts claimed, I'll let you have the mole I own,

To keep us a pair.

Beside you I like and lean on my left arm--

My right hand massages the the smooth skin, so warm,

Of your back, enjoying the sight of your charm

Of dark color there.