Metaphor for a Friday Night

Your hands are clever,

I get that now, it’s not

just the sexy guitar riffs

or knowing when to rev those

highway near-death takeovers.

I got it when

your tequila persuaded hands stumbled

in the dark

all over my body

but somehow avoided to acknowledge

my sex, my name.

I get it now, your hands,

their resourcefulness and their ironic desire

for hairless body heat in the tropical east,

and maybe even

the metaphor of intertwining fingers—

That’s all I was, a metaphor

for sexual blindness, or ignorance;

a metaphor for

(your words)

a man’s Friday night.