june08...

I remember their hands most. Hands flitting in and out. Hands over my mouth, hands on me, in me, fingers pushing past my lips, threading through my hair or my own hands. Fingernails cutting slick flesh, or finger pads fretting me so hard it hurts. Licking wrists. I remember breath drawn in and teeth. Words spoken and not. But I remember only a few moments of love. Only moments. And in none of those moments do I know that both hearts were full.