your knuckles
when they’re lined up next to mine
our hands laced together
the one dimple in your left cheek
that only comes out when you smile
really, really big
your moles
and how i’m sure they’d form a constellation
if only you’d let me see them
long enough to connect the dots
i can find stars elsewhere i suppose
starlight, star-bright
will you be my home tonight
your knuckles
how white they are
when you grip my hand too tight
my bones creak
i squeeze back
margaret flowers ©
old 3 a.m. ramblings