There is nothing as familiar to me
as the space between the waist of your jeans
and the skin stretched taught across the muscles
below your stomach, the way your flesh calls to my hands.
My palms are rougher now than when I first touched you.
I'm more scarred, but less scared.
A thousand tiny almost deaths have made me braver,
but more than that, I know that you
would **** and die for me, no hesitation,
and that's the blood that binds us,
sticky on your fingers and salty in my mouth.