“Let’s compare sizes,” you said,
pressing our palms together. Your hand
was much larger than mine, pale
pink palms, tan on the back.
The bones in your fingers were long
and eloquent.
My little hand stammered.
When you touched my body,
I wondered if you would find me
hiding within. I watched
you above, studied your face
as you unwrapped me, mentally
photographed the expression in your eyes,
the subtle changes in the shape
of your mouth.
When you pulled me to you
I breathed you in, silently thieving
a piece of your soul
to keep forever,
should you leave me later
in a moment
less important that this one.
Later I lay on my side, your left arm
around my naked back, my breasts
pressed against you and my head
on your chest. From that perspective
I watched your breath quicken.
You held yourself in your hand, coaxing
the length of yourself. I sighed as you
gently traced the head, slick, swollen
and beautiful. When I took you
in my mouth I closed my eyes,
depriving myself the sense of sight
to better memorize your taste.
In the restaurant booth
you held my hand again, studied
the palm, marveled
at the similarity of our lines.
Your finger stayed
on the trails, tread lightly.
You left no garbage behind.
