I watched you nervously
as you held your hand
to your lap in your own
nervous,
awkward stance.
I pondered taking you hand,
slipping my fingers between yours,
carefully,
gaining touch.
Hours I watched, hours you shifted
my desire to touch you
growing with the lump in my throat, the
increasingly
erratic beat of my heart.
I moved without thinking,
elbowing you slightly
and you shifted,
longingly
looking away.
You blurted, "I would hold your hand
but
mine are dirty,
sweaty..."
You watched me with surprise
as I held my hand,
palm upward, offering with
gentleness
and you held it
tight.
JH
10.04.16/11.30.16
YOU ARE READING
Reflection
Poetry"I've been trying to put it to words, to collect those thoughts wholly, and to combine them singularly into an explanation--- Not an excuse. Not an apology. Not a proposal." From 'With You I'll Never Hang My Noose" My 2015...
