loose threads

in praise of your arms
because i cannot think of anything other than the way the hair on your forearm catches the morning light, a star to rival the sun that rises behind the mountains. hark! the herald angels sing their praise when you unbutton your cuffs, flash a little wrist as you roll your sleeves up and up to reveal a sinner’s paradise; no amount of supplication or confession will ever be enough to atone for these impure thoughts of those arms capturing my hips, dragging me to the floor, and grinding me to dust again and again until i blow away in the hot exhalation of your sighs. in  praise of your arms that do not hold me now, blessed be the day that they do, 
yea and amen.

-rjm

prompt idea: “in praise of” from Amy Kay (Instagram)