As I sit here beside you
I realized how our lives are enmeshed
intertwined like our hands now
That when you’ll let go
My hand can still scratch, hold, touch
go about it’s routine
do what hands normally do
but it will always grope for yours
Seek your sweaty palms
Miss it’s warmth
Feel empty with the spaces
in between my fingers which
your long tapered fingers
with dirty uneven nails usually fill
August 14, 2008
musings on a bus ride
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