Between callused palms from lifting
Between mine from years of drawing wrong
We all have different weights to carry
Though I'd be lying if I didn't wish for a different weight in my fingers than a 2B pencil now
We made warmth in that cold evening rain
Not fucking
Just the warmth of a comrade you could call home
And also joke about fucking
You seeked my hand in yours
Telling me to caress those artificially hardened hands
There was one point where I lingered too long
You dropped your hands
But I —
I still lingered too long
What did mum say about holding hands?
Don't?
Demeter, if only you knew I'd be doing the most of the touching
Or that those same hands were used to wrap around my neck (a joke, a jest, a josh, a tease between friends)
Or that I sniffed his sweat-drenched gym shirt (oddly sweet for a man) while he watched
Oh but I heeded your warning
Of that lewd crime against humanity.
