Your Touch
You leave me dizzy,
reeling, almost nauseous,
from first kiss to first touch,
first fuck,
first doubt.
All men are dogs,
but when you’re holding my hand,
surreptitiously,
through our folded arms
on wooden tabletops,
I can’t believe it.
My poor nerves are on edge,
innocence gone,
reeling in the aftermath
of everything the world is saying.
I’m almost afraid to define us,
you, spilling secrets in the garage,
I, shocked and drunk,
wandering from your arms to his
and back.
Why should I strain
when everything around us
seems so hard-pressed
to keep us down?
No comments:
Post a Comment