I swear I’ve never felt skin so soft as hers.

Luxurious, the way silk sheets want to feel.

Her hair, too,

Must have been spun with gentle care.

Each thin strand vibrantly glowing.

She asks to use a darker towel,

After a shower, so the color won't stain.

I want to tell her to leave her mark -

Everywhere.

I want to beg her to paint the walls with her touch.

To roll a little longer in my sheets,

To leave me with anything she can spare -

Something more concrete,

Than an ephemeral memory.

She stains nothing,

But marks me instead -

Bite marks on my lips.

Nail marks tracing my spine.

A new color in my hair.

It had been years since we last kissed.

It may be years again.

Tonight, all that matters is -

When we touch,

We make each other's fantasies come true.

She kisses each of my piercings,

I lick her tattoos.

We caress each other’s scars.

Thanking each other for hurting,

For healing, and rebelling,

For becoming a safe place to nuzzle into.

For being someone who can consume me,

And leave me more whole.

Most days I didn't find her very attractive.

But sometimes she'd wear bright red lipstick and I wouldn't be able to stop staring

At her lips. I'd watch the way they parted when she talked,

When she smiled, before she took a bite of spaghetti.

She was always eating spaghetti.

I’d notice the way she'd drip sauce on her comfy old t-shirts.

I tried so hard not to notice the shape of her breasts beneath the stains.

When she offered to do my make up for a date,

I let her, even though I knew I would've done a better job myself.

I was just curious how it would feel to have her fingers so close to my lips.

Her breath tingled on my cheeks,

As she smudged purple eyeshadow around my eyelids.

She smiled and called me beautiful,

As she drew her hands back from my face.

One night, a few drinks in, she admitted she had been staring at my lips too,

With our first kiss -

I had never imagined wanting to tuck her in at night,

Until I pushed her onto the bed and I saw all of her relax.

Her arms out, asking me to be her blanket.

Normally she was so guarded.

Competitive, in the way women can only be with each other.

(It is so much better when we collaborate.)

I remember sliding my hand into her panties,

(It was the first time I'd ever done that.)

So much softer and thinner than boxers.

I remember her chin shaking,

As she came too quickly around my fingers.

She moaned my name in red lipstick,

And I wished to never spell my name in any other color.

When my mom went to get the ultrasound,

Where the doctor was supposed to be able to determine my gender,

For the very first time.

I put my hand between my legs,

Covering any hope of figuring out what I had down there.

For many more weeks,

My parents didn’t know which outfits to fill my future closet with,

What color to paint the walls of my nursery.

Even back then I felt safest with my gender a mystery.

I’d heard everyone asking my mom,

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

And all the weight they assigned to either answer.

I hope it’s a girl, they are so much fun.

Boys are so much work.

I hope it’s a boy,

Then you don’t have to worry about them dating.

Or worse, getting pregnant someday.

What if they had never been able to assign me a gender,

What if I was just a shrug everytime someone asked,

Boy or a girl?

What if they cut open the cake at my gender reveal party,

And it was a rainbow?

What if I wore every color except blue and pink?

How would I know how many calories I should eat?

How tall I should grow?

How quickly I lose heat from my toes?

The feeling of getting lost somewhere you've been a thousand times before.