Out of a much longer erotic poem, these lines jump like an epigram.
It was a finger that inched forward—
then a hand fully clasped—fingers interlaced.
Then a kiss. A blush. We were just boys.
Stephen S Mills
“How We Became Sluts”
Placed in my reading beside these quoted lines (witness to the ephemeral from elsewhere):
We hardly perceive a fraction of our living
there was a new tenderness touching my cheek
and then you died
“The Tiny Notebooks of Night”
And so for day 3108