It was very odd
and wonderful
and freeing
to confine my consciousness to
hands
your hand, inching closer
clenching and unclenching
nervous, I think
my hand edging over, upwards
towards
your hand, resolved, I think
drifting lower
my hand, moving
(would-be casual) up to
contact:
your pinky, drifting over, across
my fingers, turning
my hand, turning over
until my fingers crept
and your fingers wrapped
with unprecedented boldness
into one another’s palms.
