October 25, 2008 - 2:02
But a hands glance of wet feathers, a thumbs swipe of sueded face. My palms love even more than I do; yesterday in a walking daze "I don't know anything, except what I touch."
Whatever I meant, it's true that my senses have begun to process this, reporting with more urgency than the rest of me. They say, Oh, my God.
Sometimes I will be gripped by a simple pass from a stranger.
"I am Yuri. You are pretty. Would you like accompaniment with your liquor?"
"Simply, no."
Yet he's followed all the rules, and I'm left with the guilt of deviation.
Yuri has talked me into caring more about him than he even intended to.