rubbing my knuckles
into the abundant knots on your back
taking on mountains with these pale weak fingers
encouraged by your occasional groan or sigh of relief
that sounds still keeps me going.
To you, this is a one way relationship because you assume
I am doing you the favor, giving you that relaxed and tingling feeling
while I walk away with sore hands.
You're wrong.

Driving home with those sore hands
wrapped up in coat sleeves
fighting to keep my teeth steady in the four a.m. cold
every so often I'll bring one hand up to my face and inhale
for all I'm worth
that scent still brings me to tears.
For you, a fleeting pleasure may not seem like enough to keep up
with your constant requests
But I am indebted to you with every fiber
of my exhausted being
I feel as though I should somehow display the gratitude
well, here it is.

And writing this, it occurs to me (I showered but my clothes still caught
that wonderful smell, from my chest pressed against yours.)
that it's not really about the way you smell or taste or look
It can't all come down to the realization that when I turn around
and see your face and shirtless silhouette
every thought is driven out of mind-
that sight still gets me every time.
No, it must be something more sentimental, or at least
that's what I hope it means when
I find myself all choked up because I know I left you, sleeping on the couch
and these wishes that I had stayed all night must amount
to something more than pillow talk.