flat out, untouched,
abiding until the moment a hand
goes to pick you up,
their liquid waste, an accidental spill
fills your cotton pores
not even a polite question
"Can I use you, napkin?"
Or a delighting gesture; to use you once more
and more and more and more
but to crumble you, to grasp you and let you
ease into belonging; no longer disposable
though it doesn't last, you float through the air
into a pile of 20 second paper napkins
to find the lid is more compassionate
then those distant lines that seperate
the fingers into sections
it hides you from rejection