Hands are everything.
It was past conjecture; ever since  
The atmosphere upsurges when the rules are retired.
His eyes & yours fill with knife moves.  
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 &  
— no hell to pay!

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