(If I were writing this to anyone else, especially and most probably a woman,
it would go something like this:

I would like to unfold you one layer at a time;
I will peel off clothing
until I hit bottom
until there is nothing between
my hand and your drumming heart
except trembling skin.

But writing you right now is different; those soft words would feel forced, fake, hollow and pretty and attractive and wrong. I can’t tell you why but I know my heart has a song of its own
for you and if I get it wrong you know you can laugh at it.)

Do you know how overpowering you can be?
Do you know what it is to draw a breath,
one tiny insignificant breath,
and feel my entire body throb to
                                          touch you?

                                                           ­           To run my fingertips across your skin
                                                                ­    (not necessarily gently)
                                                         ­                    to press my hands into your skin until the impress -
                                                               ­                   like a flower pressed in a book -
                                                                ­             remains.

                                                       ­           I don’t want to peel your clothes away from you,
                                                                ­ slow and confident and assured, (not right now).
                                                           ­     There isn’t always confidence in want, is there?

I’d rather tear them away from you,
                                                  quest for your beating heart and the shape of
                                                              ­            your hip and the long line of your spine attempt,
                                                                ­          with my lips on yours,
                               to take your breath and make it ours.

                                                          ­      My hands are hungry;
they feel empty, grasping, needful.
                                                      My­ lips are wet.
I love you.

(I ask what I am saying and I wonder if this is weak: I want your body against mine.)