Body of desire. Pure white canvas of silence, forbidden syllables. Blind white. Names embodied in color. I am not speaking. I have closed my eyes to words. This is about senses. Like forbidden I go within. Your red heat skin blushes a deeper shade. You start at my fingers. It is enough. We have never touched. It is enough for a current of river water to rise. You climb the wrist, trace round the wrist bone. This is the first poem: our hands. I will not write. When I place your fingers in my mouth it is just to taste the way you have touched. To know the way you have sensed language. To take hands in. This is another poem I will not write. On my neck you trace our forbidden names. You spell the word hush, again and again. I take your ear lobe in two fingers. Taste the thickness of wanting. I trace the hairline around the neck, mouth all the names for red. I trace the jawbone. We are thirsty, licking lips. You open your mouth. I trace the white poems from your cheekbone down. Your mouth tasting. Your tongue. Your wet lips. I place my finger. Trace your name across lips. Your painted lips. Your thirsty, red lips.