Love Poem Attempt 3/?

I’ll say it—the most remarkable way a man

has touched me is when he didn’t intend to, found

the heat of me on accident. I’m saying his hand

punctured the gap between our backs, rooted around

for the blanket we shared and swept my rib-ridged side.

In movies, that touch is the domino

that starts the chain, but his bed did not abide

by rules of fantasy. He touched me and, oh,

I held my breath. Waited for the regret

he never felt. My God, he touched me then slid

closer beneath the duvet, our spines close-set

arches that joined in the dark, kissing. I did

not know it then, but his fingers flexed with want

into the night. His heart at my back. Desire out front.