In the tendons and the ridges
In the knuckles under your skin
I find it perfectly treacherous
When it makes me take everything into consideration.
As if simply holding hands is to be raw
That this human impulse is more than just that
And to be intertwined with a person
Is to be connected with their world!
I am reminded of how treacherous it is
To think them,
To think anyone,
Is more than a person.
In the knuckles at the base of every finger
Is where I will find a lack of uniformity
And be reminded that imperfections
Will keep us human.
We are allowed to connect with others
We are allowed to enjoy non-uniformity!
But, if by chance, I get caught up
In the thought of being with someone
Who is anything more than human,
Committing the most treacherous and humanly crime possible
Will bring me right back down to being simply human again.