His hands feel amazing.
I don’t think there’s a place they haven’t touched.
I could love like this.
Didn’t grow up with polos,
more than one suit,
hundred dollar shirts,
pants with holes in them that weren’t hand-me-downs,
jewelry,
fast cars,
new.
Growin’ up,
t-shirts,
jeans,
suit for church, funerals, weddings, special occasions,
one pair tennis shoes: worn until feet touched pavement through sole,
exception for clothes abandoned due to rapid growth.
Grew up with men like legends,
do not show emotions save anger and occasional amusement,
occasional
make choices seemingly arbitrary,
no obvious consultation or consideration
my god,
oh god,
oh dear god,
seen regularly dead tired from doing what needs done,
no job was worth more than a sign and general complaint
before it was.
men you have no doubt will function like this for all time,
no matter the lack of company.
men who grow wrinkled and gray,
but never old.
fuck me,
please fuck me,
just fuck me,
And they did.
And they taught.
And I still don’t understand fashion,
don’t pursue wealth above else.
I still carry midwestern fears to every act I will ever do.
don’t–
don’t stop,
please,
There isn’t a man I’ve slept with that I haven’t felt guilty about.
He is no exception.
His hands feel amazing.
I don’t think there’s a place they haven’t touched.
I could never love like this.
