You have been learning a new martial art. It is solely of the hands. Earth palm, you intone,
splaying your fingers so my grip on you falls away. Cloud palm, you whisper, so when I reach
to touch your face I find my fingers knocked back to my body, as gentle, I think,
as the many points of rain. In bed I bend my dark mouth to that of you which I can still kiss,
your shoulder, the ball sliding in the socket sliding under the skin to move
as the rest of you does, my man-sized machine, dear master of deflection.

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