“When I am lonely for boys it’s their bodies I miss. I study their hands lifting the cigarettes in the darkness of the movie theaters, the slope of a shoulder, the angle of a hip. Looking at them sideways, I examine them in different lights. My love for them is visual: that is the part of them I would like to possess. Don’t move, I think. Stay like that, let me have that.”
“I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I want. I lie motioness, savoring the feeling of her body against mine. I’m afraid to breathe in case I break the spell.”
The first language humans had was gestures. There was nothing primitive about this language that flowed from the people’s hands, nothing we say now that could not be said in the endless array of movements possible with the fine bones of the fingers and the wrists. The gestures were complex and subtle, involving a delicacy of motion that has since been lost completely.