months of letters mid-air before
I knew her face, many more weeks before
I could look at it directly
one middle finger tracing
the back of a middle
knuckle a meditation an introduction
to touch if you listen
past breath, you can hear the sound
a woman’s skin makes
on another’s skin: a prayer a welcome
the luminescence of oil:
how she makes a body shine
even in its earthness
(still, sometimes,
I fear she’ll turn
or return
to ivy)
how I hold back
my breath, my pulse, the full weight
of my mouth, so she knows
my reverence and desire
in perfect balance
This is a poem in moments
kind and cautious:
each deliberation
a devotion, every exploration
a sanctity we cannot bear
to reduce to romance
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