slighted fingertips
withdrawing from a near-fatal embrace
how does it feel?
to brush precariously
at the edge of something
infinitely beautiful;
to find the void
greeting you instead.

curled at waist height
or tied
to the belt loops of jeans
or smushed into pockets,
balled up
waiting for  another
chance to extend again.

there in the throes of night
unclenching, reclenching fists lay,
wondering

will the next time will be different
and
how will it feel?