Twist

Align against me, fine
and starlight-pale, exposed
like film to the still,
cool room, to the static dark.
I dare to move, fingertips
first, towards the place
where the air stops
and you, waiting and warm, begin—
and yield, moist and electric-
alive with the hum of potential,
the tumble of promise. Twist
trembling under my mouth,
bend in my hands
like a green branch. I trace
your topography: ridges
and hollows, shadows and scars;
I learn the lines and language
of your body and bones,
the secret words that unfold you
gasping, plucked like a string.
Shift sideways, stolen sighs
hitching staccato—this—here–
–yes—you—teeth apart,
throat stark and soft and arching,
eyes bright, unfocused, open
and closed. Damp hair
binds my knuckles; wrists
lissome and white cross
behind my neck, hold there,
press there. Stay.