In the dry corridors of my soul
wind sorrows around me, pressing
shame into zip-locked silences where
words crumble and vaginal cords have
forgotten how to sing.
But when I wanted to become
liquid, I reached with a furious
burning for a pure touch. God,
maybe. Or a man in His likeness.
He became me. I became him.
And we were one for a time
ignoring distance or circumstance
holding onto nothing except
a squeezed heart that refills
a silver pearl that
cups the breath and textures
of his inaccessible skin.