Pt. I : Static

I once said to a friend,
"I don't know how to be gentle,"
thinking I was too clumsy
too aggressive
too destructive
for tenderness.

But
when faced with the thrill
of your sharp angles
meeting my soft flesh
it was too much for anything but softness
gentle fingers down the back of your
strong neck, your shoulders
feeling the prickle of
each tiny hair on your stomach
standing on end
electric
as my fingers barely skimmed its surface
touching without touching
electric

you taught me the tenderness
of a palm, feeling its way down my side
across my torso, over my hips
of a palm, making me aware of my own curves
tracing the shapes in the dark
and isn't it always so:
I am the fingers, exploring
working one at a time over every surface
desire is in the details
and every inch deserves a statue
or at the very least a kiss
But you
you are the palms
smoothing, feeling, calming
you're always moving smoothly through life
effortless and tactile
pushing, grabbing, seeking
I wonder if you ever find what it is
you're looking for.


Pt. II : Kinetic

I'm typically careless
prone to bruises and apologies
not to be trusted with anything
that could be broken or lost

I pick apart flowers
dismantling them thoughtlessly in my palm
I have a midas touch for destruction
things crumble to my touch

I'm always too excited
too passionate, over-eager

Until
your mouth on mine
transferring energy
electricity
a fistful of hair
our bodies moving together
friction
your teeth
sinking into my neck
sending exclamation points
down my spine
up my legs
feeling my skin turning white under your grip
tension

Collision
finally that which I destroy
destroys me back
pumping heartbeat of a car crash
lip-biting intensity of a knife slip

and
the security
of not having to worry
if my careless excitement
has hurt something
the safety in knowing
my passion is met
and rivaled
and "no,
you're not being too rough"
or "no,
you don't need to settle down
and learn to use
your indoor voice."

Fuck indoor voices
and love like you need it.