Us

Your hand first held my thigh. Slid the length of my leg and rested just above the knee, before our fingers met and palms pressed. A backward introduction - legs before hands.

We were in a packed little room with a small flickering television; friends crumpled together on couches and sprawled across the floor. But we might as well have been alone, up on our couch, our bodies hidden beneath the soft warmth of a flannel blanket.

My fingertips traced the curves of your knuckles and the length of your fingers. I felt the gentle weight of your hard-skinned palm. Your hand cupped mine delicately as though I was porcelain and as fragile as the moment - the beginning of us.