The Nerve of You

       I have a confession, an incipient obsession with your skin, the way it
becomes thicker as we get closer, the way mine grows thin when we part
and I’m left with just the beating of my heart against your thigh. I
think I hear a sigh but I’m not certain, or if it’s mine, yours, or a
collective sound that rises between us.
       I didn’t know – maybe I did – that we would turn the way we did, the way
I hid behind a smile beneath a curtain of hair that you parted with your
breath and I wanted to touch the curve of your insistence. I don’t have
the nerve to tell you but I have the desire to take advantage of the
ease with which I ached to please myself with you – you’d be pleased,
too. I think, yes, I do. You touched a nerve and I deserve the nerve of
you.