You send a photo of your working hand, your tendons, carpals, metacarpals, and my thought ticks across your body, your brain and voice and breath. I set my own just-sufficient hands to ranging my raw want, my mind on your tongue and face and hands and /yes/ and cock and saliva and semen and /yes/ and arms and clavicles and /yes/ and skin and /yes/ and /yes/ and /yes/ and there are cables that fasten behind my hips pulling me toward you and /yes/ even at this distance I lift to your absence pressing and /yes/ I want you to watch me and /yes/ my mouth floods with its own drenched wet and /yes/ and /yes/ my cunt is all constriction, trying to find you, hold you and /yes/ I do not check my breath and /yes/ I do not check the moan that starts beyond language and /yes/ moves through my body like destruction and /yes/ my aspiration speaks your name into this being and /yes/, it ends, and I regain myself and fall away laughing, panting, my blood-flushed face starved only for your face.