Your hands molded melted silver,
arranging amethysts and amber.
My hands grasped the clasp;
your fingers fingered my breasts.
You serenaded my neck with your lips,
dusting me with specks
from your grass-greening hands.
Bearded boy beneath my palms;
labial lullabies beneath sylvan shadows.
Love was the word I could not speak,
the word you would have spoken.
When your hands molded my necklace, our token,
did sapphires sing beneath your palms
like our love unspoken?
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