At the end of her fingertips I yield

I want you to touch me

I want you to kiss my chin
Over the bandaged scratch from a sleepy morning shave

I want you to run your forefinger down my nose bridge
Ask why it’s crooked
Maybe I’ll tell you how I used to spent my breaks in the janitor’s closet

Hold on to me
The little tango we had in blasting silence 
Does the thick scar bother you?
I broke my shoulder when I let go of my bike’s handlebars trying to impress the girls

You like to put your hand on my chest
Then you’ll smile from how fast it beats
And you’ll think about the lines you read in the dusty Harlequin books about love and dreams
And I’ll nod and smile and bite back my anxiety

What do you think of me?

I like it when you put your palm on mine
Admiring how different they look in contrast
Pale skin on tanned blisters
Dainty digits on calloused knuckles

It terrifies me

What if

What if

What if

But I want you to touch me

With your finger
With your kiss
With your tongue

With your lust

I want you to touch me
So that I’ll understand
That not all touch leaves black and blue and blood
That there’s nothing I can lose from loving mutely