You didn’t look at me or say anything or move, except your chest rising and falling.
I also lay still and quiet, repeating in my head, promising,
promising to be strong,
that if you didn’t reach out and touch me in
I would move, leave without a word. Never see you again.
everything dark and still.
I wait, hating myself and hating you.
You reach over and wipe off my back with your boxers.
I inch closer but my pride won’t let me touch you. So many lonely places I’ve been.
You mumble something about sweat. I put my clothes on and leave.
Five in the morning.
never see you again.
Now you say you love me. That I snuck up on you, real good.
You never want to let me go. You beg me to stay longer, to let you make me come.
I let you do these things. I tell you I love you.
But when it’s quiet between us, and nothing holds our bodies together
except a prideless hope that everything will be OK if we are loved,
I almost cry, conjuring the tears,
never letting them go,
and I get scared when you’re holding me, you clever stranger,
that you’re this close to the blood in my heart, because I have no idea who you are.