By Devon Judd

Nights I write my romance

Your hair in my lap

To be toiled by my working fingers

My old working hands spread even

Against your scalp and I wonder

Whether you feel how cold my hands are this evening

I pull your head back to lick

Your eyelids and

Look my loving into the backs of your eyes

Your hair through my fingers

Smells so different to mine

We are almost the same

(our mouths taste the same this late in the day)

But we are different


To love one another

You take my hands in yours and I

Am terrified that I am only the cold air to your wet eyes

But I believe you

And begin to learn my new body

My hands no longer the termination, the extension

Of me

My hands now the midpoint, the chest, hips, heart

Of me

I kiss your arms and I kiss my arms

I run my fingers across both

Our skin together

And dizzy myself in the fever of

Two overlapping bodies

Devon Judd is a Wellington based student, arborist, and environmentalist