Nightcrawler’s Hands

At first, a graze

Your pinkie against mine

In an elevator

As we walked to the 1 train

It felt electric but unsteady

What was it supposed to mean?

The next day you took my chin

Into your hand

Your skin was warm, but rough

You asked how I could be this pretty

Fingers wrapped around my jaw bone

Just a bit too tightly

I think I was flattered

But your stardom cast a shadow

Isn't pretty a word for little girls?

I was 23 and you were 35

My chest was tight that first night

You invited me upstairs

You'd been feeling stressed

And the director told me to help

For the show, she said

Everyone wanted to please him

So I should want that too

Your hands gripped me above the waist

Thumbs digging into my hip bones

As you breathed heavily into my ear

"I've wanted to do this for so long"

It'd only been nine days

Your hands worked their way up

Ravenous, searching for something

I wasn't sure that I could give

They seemed so large in that moment

As if they could press against my face

Smother me and make me disappear

I would've welcomed it

We met on the stage of your show

You a film actor turned Broadway star

Me an intern wanting to use my own hands

To create something new

But I keep them in my pockets now

And clench them into fists