my fingers touched the back of his hand
the skin stuck to arches of my fingerprints
and made soft veiny noises
like an orange slice--
sticky sweet and juicy
and drippy
and thick-sticky like honey
a vein in his left wrist pulsed and I wrapped it
around my smallest finger
and tugged
and watched it briefly tug his heart to the left.
as we hold hands his skin loosens,
comes off,
until
he is bare
muscles showing bits of glistening bone
his fingernails already behind us on the ground
the sun heats his corporeal stickiness
and I part his muscles and crawl into his forearm
slip into his calf
where I am sure
his pulsing veins, thick from climbing mountains,
traversing miles,
will push me up
beat
by
beat
back
up into his thigh
where
I will incubate
intimate
and someday burst out
honeythickstickywith placenta and something like sacrifice.