Are we running
because you're afraid of me

or the starting pistol aimed at us both.

Too busy
thinking I'm yours

to worry about loving from another source.

Do not ask
to be loved in your dark
if you are unable to
love in my light.

Distances uncovered by slow fingertips tracing arches of ligaments
rivers of veins
through mountains of bone
across lakes of pain.

Your body is a continent
and something compels me to explore,
(and as long as you allow it)
I'll keep searching till we're sore.