You
are as skeletal as I'd imagined, all calcium
and cold-
I wonder, as I run my hands up and down your chest,
if you feel things the same way
I do.
I call you "she," but does that really matter to you?
In the grand scheme of things
you are, and have always been, a
god.
I think when it comes down to it,
-gender-
is the least of your worries.
Your lips
are kissable.
You warn me, once,
to stay far away from your shoulders
in the sort of voice that hints a person has
impaled themselves in the past.
Even your shoulders pronounce death
yet you are gentle.
I do not question it, though I do wonder
Why?
What made me so special?
Your ice fingers curl around me
inside me
Am I convinced yet?
I puff out my chest a little more
and pray to Kira that you never realize my
inadequacies.