my professor said to write about an erotic experience, so I wrote about her hands

Photo by Aiden Nelson

By Aiden Nelson

fingers like birds. I don’t believe in God, 

but I believe in this – skin to skin contact, 

the holiness of held breath and unlocked 

potential. lavender iced coffee. glitter 

on her eyelids. this is sex. or something 

like it, her hands touch mine and I know, 

deep down, that I’m in for it, oh god

I’m in for it her hands are like birds, 

fluttering into intimacy, soft and small 

and delicate as they brush against mine. 

her hands are cold, but so am I; I’m frosted over

with winters of blue-eyed heartbreak. 

knuckles white from holding on 

to forgiveness not yet given. I don’t believe

in God but I believe in this – erotica 

in the creases of her palms. I don’t believe

in much, but I believe in her hands. I would 

suck the dirt from under her fingernails

just for a taste of what keeps her grounded. 

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