You wait for fingertips,
tiny coil
a cold muscle
tensing the point,
within its protective sheath.
Abandoned to a drawer or purse,
point exposed—
an exhibitionist awaiting
discovery,
a flinch and
the suck suck suck of
a punctured fingerpad.
You will be restrained again,
craving again release,
the opportunity to pierce,
to hold
not to be held.
