Five finger copyright
branded with your hand
Wisps of white smoke loiter in your fingers
Linger on my leg
Candescent in your shape

I try to remember when this palm held creation

When fingers were feathers
When thumbs were necks

I try to feel like the plasticine
you once molded so carefully

Tugging gently on doughy edges
Rolling body into bracelet with the meat of his paw

Kneading me,

kneading me,

kneading me

I try to look at him with the love he seemed to have 
But,

Aphotic

Is his expectant eyes at the empty
Is the dusk stalking a dying phone
Is the weight of your loneliness too heavy for my hand,
Too long on my thigh
It is his car moving in tandem with his touch
It is desperation for a more lonely abandonment
It is fear of the car’s coming fatigue
It is still,

his disappointment.

It is when he says,
“Lord only knows If I could really touch you”,

It is when the Lord warns,

“If only he could”