You have sadness that 
hasn’t lifted for weeks 
and I get scared to ask

about it because I know 
I can’t fix it.
I’ve pressed

myself into your skin like

a bandaid but haven’t

been able to soak any of

it up; I place my hands on

every part of your body 
leaving a layer of fingerprints

that will fail to warm you. 

You get quiet when you’re 
sad and the silence drips 
with all the ways I’m useless 
to help.