4

Your body is not a picture.
It is warm, heavy, alive.
I love your fingers,
how they don't stop halfway,
how they can be tender
even when they are strong.
I love the veins beneath the skin,
not as a threat —
like rivers that know where they belong.
And when you lean down to me,
nothing startles inside me.
Only an old cold closes
and a place opens up.