The Nerve of You

       I have a confession, an incipient obsession with your skin, the way it
becomes thicker as we get closer, the way mine grows thin when we part
and I�m left with just the beating of my heart against your thigh. I
think I hear a sigh but I�m not certain, or if it�s mine, yours, or a
collective sound that rises between us.
       I didn�t know � maybe I did � that we would turn the way we did, the way
I hid behind a smile beneath a curtain of hair that you parted with your
breath and I wanted to touch the curve of your insistence. I don�t have
the nerve to tell you but I have the desire to take advantage of the
ease with which I ached to please myself with you � you�d be pleased,
too. I think, yes, I do. You touched a nerve and I deserve the nerve of
you.