Jealous hands.

I watch behind you
in the crowd,
as she reaches over,
to so gently scratch your back,
and sooth you as you lean there,
forward in your chair.

My emptiness is apparent.
And I am jealous of her hands,
and wish that I could feel those things.  
I wish my words were fire,
and my aching heart,
exchanged for brilliant wings,
jealous hands, jealous face-
feathers and sinew,
jealous things-
so I could leave this place.

(c) Dm 2015