You dream she has wings

When she undresses herself for you, for the first time, you beg your eyes not to stare at her shoulder blades which stick out like cut off wings. Because you’ve been taught that loving a woman relates to brutality in the bedroom and you don’t want to love her the way that men have loved you because you will not let this love become something that greedily takes and leaves no after thought.

So you’d go eons without pressing your body against hers and a lifetime without grazing her bare skin with the tips of your fingers because loving someone doesn’t justify killing them and then easing your innocence by carving a headstone that reads here lies a predator, who made light of all the blood that comes from making a sport of trying love a woman like a man.

And your hands won’t stop shaking hands when she undress herself so you turn away but she grabs your hand and proclaims “No you won’t hurt me.” You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding in because she means it and you crawl under the covers. Her lips pressed against mine and hips to hips as her fingers trace my collarbone, and down admist seas.

Sometime later in the night while you sleep, she lies awake stroking your honey colored hair wishing that someone had taught you that sex and love can coexist without mortality. You dream, she has wings again.