I can offer you my hand,
my impatient tentacles that will graze your thighs. Let them find us gasping in bathroom stalls and buses with our fingers sticky with greed, with eyes that see only dark corners and opportunity as we rendezvous on lover’s lane.
I can offer you my mouth,
with whispers that kiss your neck like the cold breeze. Let them find us laughing in soapy bathtubs and tangled sheets, reciting bedtime stories with lips that smell of sex, familiar as the toothbrush shared by lovers.
I can offer you my heart,
and the secrets recorded on my skin. Let them find us holding hands on barstools and in crowded airports, celebrating a life composed of stolen moments because that is where love is born.