Interweaving, interlocking,

watch the clock that

ticks and tocks 

Something else to 

ease the pain,

your touch a drug

I can’t abstain.

Reading palms on 

Sunday mornings,

feel the calm next 

to your snoring.

Fingertips like 

calloused glass,

tell me what shall 

come to pass.

A moment held

in the palm of your hand,

its memory saved

in sinking sand.

Feel the intervals 

in your touch,

the distance between us 

is my crutch.

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