Because First I Found Your Eyes

If I had taken your hand
before finding your eyes;
if I had traced the chipped
rounds of your nails,
and slid there – down
to the calloused pads;
if I had awakened a paper
cut, austere in the burdens
of your fingers, would you
have recoiled, thought me –
Fresh, unbounded, soiled?

I would assume
that if I had mapped
the circuit of your toils
before meeting your hazeled
eyes above your pink, spotted,
tended cheeks, above
your meek suspicious lips,
you’d have peeled off, away,
faded in the commons,
wary of my wanting –
my wanting to hold,
in the mingling of hands,
the scuff of all your days.

Image: Victor Rodriguez on Unsplash

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