Going To My Head Poem by Elna Nel

once more I'll hug
the tips of my fingers
to your chin
in a close dance
clay against clay
with sole skin
separating us
desperate for contact
with your exasperating
ambiguity
I'll say it well
with naked hands
a cheekbone high
a lip an eye
contours of loveliness
on a tender trip
with a thumb and my eye
will I love you mold you
drum into you dimples
of interest with the many
roads of my mind
for I've decided
that I need you now