The first time I touched your skin
Was when I kissed your cheek –
Improper perhaps, for first meeting,
But there was invitation in your smile;
We could have been as passionate
In the Tate’s lobby
As a Pre-Raphaelite knight
And his Lady of Shallot.

The second time I touched your skin
Was New Year’s Day,
When you took my hand
And put it on your breast,
And I knelt before you
To kiss its softness
While you sighed your assent
And took my head in your hands.

The third time I touched your skin
Was when you laid back,
And showed its full extent before me,
Glowing in the half light
Like a moonlit pool.
And I would have drowned in its warmth
Had your arms not reached down
To draw me up.