What is Man

His fingers trickle down my neck and back up into my hair. My roots piling one way and falling back another is a feeling I don’t know the words for. People have talked about how a mother’s hands in your hair is a unique feeling you just can’t replace. I didn’t get that as a kid, but if I did, I imagine it would be like this. As his hands glide on my skin, I feel like I can sense each groove in his fingerprint strumming the atoms of my hair and skin. My skin cells relax like they just got into a hot tub.

When he runs a hand up my neck, I curve my spine up into it like a cat’s back, opening up my entire neck to him. I realize I’m no longer curled up but am in starfish mode. He works his way from that hairless patch of skin behind my ears to my collar bones, to my shoulders, to my biceps, to the little dip in my elbow. His fingers spread across my forearms and come back together as if a jellyfish is walking down my arms. Then he pushes into my wrist and massages them between each of the little bones in my hand. I never knew forearms and hands could be massaged. The duds of his fingers sink between mine, pushin’ them apart using the grooves in his print to scratch the webs of my fingers. A scratch I didn’t know I needed. Next he’s tracing the lines of my palms and it’s better than somebody gettin’ that spot you can’t reach. My body releases a big exhale and I feel the static blood in my veins flowing.

He keeps one hand on mine and brings his other back into my hair. I rest my head back and open my eyes. He returns my gaze and smiles. I feel his legs turn inward like a bashful child gifted a newborn puppy. I know he must be beaming on the inside.