This might be nothing...

Leaning forward to offer these creepy hands which do not intend to creep anyone out.
Just curious about the friendliness of touching skin, where you find comfort
in dragging finger tips as they explore your limits (hopefully, there are none.)
~As I lean forward
I conclude that jumping from this height
is survivable~
But it's nothing serious, just a bunch of games where the reward is something special
but not too special. Just a seemingly profound something which spends time in replacing
your boredom. At times, this something is confused with a crucifix salvation.
~Time is a subtle religion
all obey and never let the shape of their thoughts
imitate a question mark~
The purity of holes through these hands are false, apparently. From this mistake
I've learned that you can't actually touch magic without getting blood everywhere.
Like believing a noose can be used as a scarf, when you can't carry on through the blizzard.
~The chilled touch of a belt around my neck
doesn't satisfy. I lose all envy for the wilted rose
and realize there might not be a better place.~
With a chance, considering all the evolutionary steps taken, there might not be
anything to hide. No more excuses for primal intentions. These organs are there
for a reason. With hands like any other, perfectly capable of understanding your back.
~The thrill of your curves is honest
as I grip like leather to your hips
smiling like an idiot~
The knuckles lose their tension as your face draws near.
~hope you'll excuse me for all the masturbation~
One cannot deny the presence of fire works.
~February feels more like July~
Taking a leap into what might be nothing.
~I find confidence in the melting snow~