Coming Out

I knew  

With the tips of my fingers sick,
Trembling to touch her skin,
Graze the hairs of her arms,
Soft as dandelion heads.
Aching to soothe the calloused spots
Between her second and third
Knuckle, the bone reflecting
White beneath the surface

I knew

Reaching her collarbone,
The dent of her throat,
My eyes, slits behind sheets,
Feeling the lump of her mole
Like a small mound.
Tracing the bends of her back,
Cupping the sides of her breasts,
Pale and limber, their weight
Surrendering to my palms

I knew  

Groping her inner thigh
My febrile hands, two silent prowlers,
Traveling higher, the confluence
Of her body like a shrine.
Brushing the edge of her lips,
Feeding from each crack and blister,
My lips, like tremulous snakes,
Unsealing the partition,
Our tongues, like ravenous vipers,
Invading the insides
Of our mouths in a séance,
Exchanging warm breaths,
Sharing deep gasps 

I knew

Praying for the squeal
Of the door, waking
To puffy eyelids, tousled hair
Longing for her voice, like searching
For the ocean in a shell,
Counting her brushstrokes,
Knowing her smell, like one knows
The scent of a new season,
Loving her,
Loving her unrequited