reach out your long fingered
white skin-gloved hand
in slow motion to rest one
warm elliptical tip
on the top of my cheekbone
near my eye, my hairline, my little smooth
run down to the corner of my lip
there I smile
then your finger, “too shy, shy”
flies back to the curve of the pocket---
right pocket---of your jeans
you’re looking down
as if to ward off demons of sight
but when you look up
your eyes like a child, bright, clear
I guess there aren’t any monsters
your lashes are steady
you seem so sure of it
when your hand reaches to the back of my head
pressing my hair against me
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