You do not jump over any questionable gaping holes, as if you did have something to lose. Like face, or protected shame.
Would you have sat in front of my camera and and chose to "be yourself"
while I thought about kissing you, and biting your bottom lip?
I did not ask because without the film, you asked me to and I
sat stuck on the couch, not making room for you.
I used words to cover up my sacred fear. You didn't listen to them because
you only wanted the sensation of mouth on mouth moving.
Could have compromised with moans and small, but heavy breaths.
Now I watch your hips when you raise your arms and your shirt rides up a bit,
and think about pulling you over to me, where I am standing by the tree,
and you could be the enforcer, and I would be helpless and waiting for your
push, as well as your pull.
But I am the timid kid you only refer to as a singular gender. My given gender.
Your pout gives yours so much more depth and strangeness.
I'll be waiting on the wall, leaning, like I'm asking for it.