I worry, still

about unraveling before you. how could I? after growing so skilled at
making you laugh. this must be best—remaining distant and dry-eyed.
overheating when I touch your back, thigh or fingertips
                                        //
another worry fills the foreground—that you can see right through
me. my shame and my secrets. sheer and so stretched, clinging to this
chest that belongs to you, too
                                        //
any minute now, I  would fall to my knees. lips doused in red wine /
salty tears / and you     holding me there, like I asked you to     guiding
what you can gather