Quiver

Your eyes are closed
but mine are open.
They search, examine and record.
I map out the surface
of your body
charting sizes, shapes, and positions
of freckles, moles, and scars.
I look for signs of change, discoloration, deterioration;
for something I may have missed.

Minutes ago we made love
and I kissed you.
Like a lover, I felt
your back, your ass, your legs.
My hands caressed your chest and neck.
I kissed you
my hand on your throat
rose to feel
your face, your ears, your jaw
and fell back to your throat.
Your Adam's apple moved
up and down
beneath my sweaty palm.
You swallowed the spit filling up our mouths.

My hand slid down your neck.
Fingers secretly, quickly, expertly
brushed lymph nodes
searching for clues.
I broke the kiss
to taste your salty skin,
to bite into your nipple,
to change positions so that
I could watch you come.

You lie still
my fingers keep moving.
Like a blind man, I read you.
My fingers knead
and pry your skin.
Press and prod,
massaging the tenseness
from your muscles.
Pull, counting the hairs
on your chest, your legs, your arms.
At your wrist, my fingers slow,
but don't stop. They feel
on one side the hairs and tougher skin,
hot and damp.
The inside, soft and fair,
is vulnerable, and I feel
the veins and arteries
underneath your skin.
My finger traces a vein
to a chicken pox scar just below
the bend at your elbow.

A little further up and I imagine
I can feel the tiny holes
where they drew your blood.
I trace the vein
back to yor wrist,
like a nurse I press my finger
down and count
your heartbeats.
Your pulse is slowing.
Your breath also slows
and I listen,
my head on your chest.

I watch the come on your belly
turn watery and roll down your side.
I put my hand in the middle,
lifting slightly, and feel its sticky pull.
It smells faintly of bleach
and I wonder
if it's from the drugs
that are killing your sperm.

I roll off you
so I won't wake you
when I get up to take a shower.
I steal away quietly
once your breathing has settled
into the familiar pattern of sleep.

In the bathroom, I towel off,
stand naked in front of the mirror.
Like a teenager, I lean
forward and examine my face.
I look for signs of change, discoloration, deterioration;
for something I may have missed.

I brush my hair and teeth,
rub lotion into my skin.
My fingers explore my body,
massaging the tenseness
from the muscles
in my legs, shoulders, and neck.
My hands move up,
examine the glands
beneath my jaw.