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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