You can't really blame me, you know.
It's not my fault someone else's hands
can hold me so much better than my own.

Ah. the forbidden sense.
The tell us this is a true connection,
a fault in our armor.

To let fingertips raise goosebumps on your ribcage,
to know what it is like to run your nails on a persons scalp.

To let someone else have a sense of entitlement
and control over your body.
Do not tell me this is a bad thing.

A caress, a slap, an embrace.
Knuckles wrapping around your neck.

This could have been you.

I loved you, first.
I love you, even now.