There is still
your hand on my wrist,
(seducing).
Fingers feel
through layers of
skin,
the thin stratums of
yielding flesh . . .
the slender and rounds
of my bones.
Your thumb
covers blue veins, the caress
synchronizes our
heartbeats.
We breathe each other in.
"I could hurt you" -
but you don't.
"It would be so easy ..."
your hand,
now warmer, testing with fire and
fear as you begin to
tighten.
Squeeze a little more
and I would break, but
not cry out,
never
to say a thing.
Then you let go; these moments
have had their proper
effect.
I stay precious,
still beautiful at the wrists and
in the way I never
blink but
wait,
motionless, your Rubik's mystery,
a challenge
when you look at me. |