Hands are everything. You might say
It was past conjecture; ever since  
The atmosphere upsurges when the rules stick.
His eyes & yours fill with knife jabs.  
Your brain stores all kinds of pleasure. & his the same.
 
A genome led you to him..  
He smiles with no wisecracks about your bluffing kowtow & innocence  
 
— nothing to discredit or crib  
...no hell to pay!

...the rain keeps raising rules of thumb, bringing it all back.