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The first love of my life never saw me naked
- there was always a parent coming home in half an hour - always someone in the next room.
Always too much body and not enough time for me to show it.

Instead, I gave him my shoulder, my elbow, the bend of my knee
- I lent him my corners, my edges, the parts of me I could afford to offer
- the parts I had long since given up trying to hide.
He never asked for more.

He gave me back his eyelashes, the back of his neck, his palms
- we held each piece we were given like it was a nectarine that could bruise if we weren’t careful.
We collected them like we were trying to build an orchid.

There was no secret I didn’t tell him, there was no moment I didn’t share
- and we didn’t grow up, we grew in, like ivy wrapping, moulding each other into perfect yings and yangs.

We kissed with mouths open, breathing his exhale into my inhale -
we could have survived underwater or outer space.

Breathing only of the breathe we traded 
I never wanted to hide my body from him -
if I could,  I would have given it all away with the rest of me - I did not know it was possible.