My body felt different being touched when I was younger
When someone else’s fingers landed on me for the first time
It was like porcelain butterflies and sugared violets on top of a creamy cake
Flowy summmer skirts and electric fences
It was the cracking sound dry sticks in the woods make when you step on them
It was a fragile champagne flute, it was the all the unknown smells.
Back then, I felt as much lost as I felt found lying under him
Never before was I so properly placed and yet never so horrendously missplaced
And I called his body my homeland
Though there couln’t be a more terrifying, unknown terrain in all of humanity
And I called my body my homeland
And as I’m writing this,
I can’t decide which one was a bigger lie.
I am all better now.
I have grown into my limbs and filled my flats and curves
I have shed the awkward somewhere between that lazy Sunday
And and a swim in the sea
Zipped it open and stepped out of it.
Or perhaps it is truer that I grew so much larger it simply tore off.
When his fingers land on me now, everything is rich red
I am a cup of tea full to the brink but just before it spills
Satisfying like a zambony smoothing over the damaged ice
It’s like flying over an evergreen forest and a cat stretching in the sun
It deeper and heavier now, flows more to the core
It is also darker now,
A soft dusk engulfs everything that is not us
Consumes all the dissipated thoughts and leaves me with
The far most generous and soothing nothing
I have ever known.