Read at first glance, the poem describes someone removing hair from another person's body, or perhaps their own: the back of the neck, then down the spine from shoulder blade to base. The language is physical and close-up. Stubble becomes a "tree trunk grown bristled thistles," something rough that has to be pulled out with tape, then shaved and cleaned with burning alcohol.
The mood shifts as the poem goes on. The harsh, slightly painful work gives way to "soothing lips" and "solemn breath," and the final lines turn calm and almost reverent. Moonlight pales the smooth skin, and the room is so still that there isn't a single goosebump. The speaker seems to look at the body with tenderness and wonder, seeing it as a canvas "painted by stars and tanned by shadows." Judging by the imagery, the poem suggests that care, even when it involves a bit of discomfort, can become something intimate and quietly beautiful.