Skin brushes the forest of the unknown,
Here fear is met with excitement,
Near as shadows in darkness,
One of many everlasting, ever changing, moments,
Pieces constantly coalesce in this colorful sandy show,
Like a drifting mandala,
Words cannot wrap thoughts around this now,
Thoughts cannot wrap minds around this here,
Metaphors are signs and fingers, not paths or constellations,
This poem is not real, not it,
Look close, real close,
With bare attention,
at body, sensation,
mood, and perception,
Watch her undress in the whisper of sunset night,
Where skin caresses the beautiful unknown.