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
