Your hands, moving in circles, dissolve me into uncertain puddles. I am uncomfortable in this place; taut anxiety rolls up and breaks over me in frothy green waves. I want to sail across this sea, harness that abrasive gale, fill up big white sails, and go somewhere, instead of watching my nerves erode like chalky red cliffs.
I am a floating speck in this silent golden explosion, unknowable as some achingly far off rock, drifting in icy ambiguity. We are atomic anomalies, hoping to pour into each other, but territorial of our skin. You have never held me in your hands. I am less than sand, a thousand grains of indecision.
Only mirrorless can I sigh away my sins.
