your hands still burn on my waist
your fingers would pat
and your hand would move

up and down against my waist
almost touching my ribs
our height feeling miles apart

your thumbs would run across my bone
i could feel your hands burn through the fabric
of the cheap red dress

you hummed along to a humdrum song
a song I’d heard a million times
a song I never get sick of

your fingers caressed my back
and moved like they did on a piano
and reminded me what caring touch felt like

your hands still burn on my waist
barely touching my ribs
leaving me empty