I live and die
For that moment
Right after I realize
You are being sarcastic.
For me,
To tease is to trust
And to trust is to love.
Let your gentle insults
Tickle the small of my back,
That part of my body I can
Almost-yet-not-quite see.
I know you better than
The back of my hands,
Which obsessively
Scrape dirt, turmeric, and
Dying skin
From underneath nails
Welded to
Violin fingers,
Which,
If you were to hold,
Would turn clammy and warm
And tremble slightly.
Do you like me?
The hand I place on my
Lower back grows warm
And although I cannot see
The creeping flush
I know.
