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frond
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you asked if you could hold my hand. it's like a hug, you said, but with hands. i squinched my eyes shut with happiness and embarrassment, said yes softly. which hand do you want. it works best when it's opposite hands, you said, taking my left hand in yours and stroking it with your fingers while all my nerves started to snap and spark and shimmer. this tenderness is too much to bear, this gentleness is so exquisite, this love between us is so delicately wrought. i go around hugging and kissing and fucking and holding but with you the tiniest touch has the most intense volume, and sends thousands of white-hot fireflies cascading off my skin like the reflection on the lake at the beach. i am doing everything in my power to not fill the silence with dead, dry words. to sit in this pool of tenderness even as it swells above my neck. to love you half as good as you love me. our intimacy is as soft and carefully contoured as blown glass, so that whether you want me or not seems almost beside the point.
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