On being honest
(for Joshua)
 

You spoke
to me, at last.
Unsure, at best, as if
you had grown uncomfortable
in your,

(with my)
touch, rather your
own skin. And it hurt, clean
through the tips of my own fingers
to watch

you move
back into your
self as if the smallest
breath beld, a touch less, but still bled
each time.