I was a nerve
vibrating in the dark
when we first ignored
the imperfections
of each other’s bodies
and then, with enough practice,
forgave the imperfections
of our own.
I was my age
but halved or doubled,
holding back an explanation
for my scars, a narrative
for my roughness
in shape and texture.
I was a cold body
prepared for internment
and I never thought
to categorize each muscle
as developed or undeveloped
until I showed them to you.
I was an impression
of alive, awake, and sober
as we met in the space
you gave me.