We walk a boundary. Friendship and lust
and love are different things, sometimes the same
perhaps a fourth thing with as yet no name.
We talk and we consent and start to trust.

Kissing your cheek, your neck. There’s something sweet
flavour or scent. The texture of your hair
reminds me of things lost, things never there
before but needed. As it is, complete

not steps along some way. A finger’s touch –
I shudder and you twine into my waist
look up and smile, amused. This is quite chaste
in many ways. And more would be too much.

Time takes so much that it will not replace
The years have brought me here, to kiss your face.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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