I love the rough hair on men's bristly faces
In class I daydream---imagining the flat-handed stretch of my palm
Pressed against the brittle-soft-whisker-grains of a stranger's cheek
I close my eyes to the perceived stinging intimacy
There in the stubble: the breathing regions---textures of closeness
These men, animals really, with beards
Covering their soft spaces
I'd place curiously-thirstily-exploring fingers upon their jowls
Masks of keratin cloaked with coarse winter growth
I find myself seeking that melting fusion where I'm singed
In traces of masculine unshaven skin
