Scribbles

Look at the surface ridged and intensely swirled.
Their best properties appear when teamed with other digits.
That is a general, medical fact of fingers.
Mechanical grippers with one dependence: a thumb.
Simply necessary implements when dexterity calls.

Fingers between men, physically are unvaried,
Tools for daily tasks, designers, artists of shape.
Human machines complicated in maneuver and form.
Its mechanics we see, but emotions we feel,
A touch and a taste and a lick on the tip.

Fingers are no different, they need to be liked.
They need to be cared.
With mine I promote, I offer a sigh.
They communicate to your skin all that I feel,
Talking dirty.

Slipping and gripping when the moment is ripe.
They spark and they quiz in deep hurried haste.
Matching your gasps.
Deeper and deeper, gradually extending their reach.
Breaking down tightness rhythmically rolling their way.

Excited and swelling you extend to my touch.
I tickle and tease brushing softly and smooth.
The peak of your land fertile and open to me.
My fingers I thank for all they convey.
They laugh and they dance happy to please.