those slender fingers ache
with frost touched tips
when hands join not
and severance of limb
not of your own body
comes away like snow
falling from the sky
so naturally but so coldly

there was a moment in time
when death sat beside me on a park bench
and he had rested his hand on the gap between us

i,

too,

rested my hand there
and brushed my fingers against his

and for a chaste moment
i savoured the warmth of his skin
and intertwined my hand with his

but he stood up

and left

and maybe he knew,

it was for the better.

We took quiet steps down a lonely street
I had never stepped foot in before.
The air felt tense since it was
more than clear that you didn't feel
like talking, not anymore.
You stopped suddenly and backed me
against a wall.
We made out slowly whilst I felt
an old lady watching us from her
front steps, maybe I was just imagining her
since it was time for me to go,
I had to meet up with my friends.
Two steps forward and you stopped again
looking at me with a shy smile and
intertwined our hands.
My palms were sweaty and my rings
poked at your skin but you insisted that
you didn't care.
It was also the last time
we held hands.
- hand holding.

Although I’m sure my presence is starting to become more than a little vexatious, I still hold your hand as often as I possibly can. Partially because I find how rough your hands are compared to the rest of your body to be very pleasing, but mostly because I feel obligated.
Don’t take it the wrong way, I don’t feel obligated in the sense that I’m being forced. I just know that we humans come into and leave this world alone, and I know all that you’ve seen.
So I’ll hold your hand while we lay in bed at night, cross the road, and walk through the grocery store, readjusting my grip as our fingers start slipping.
And when I notice you start slipping and losing your grip on this world and all it has too offer, I’ll readjust whatever it is that need readjusting. I’ll hold on even tighter so you don’t have to.
Just don’t give up. I know it’s hard, and I know you know that we humans come into and leave this world alone. But when I hold your hand, I have the entire world at my fingertips.

I’ll readjust as needed.

hand holding
is such a
beautiful thing,
two different
hands intertwined
to make one.

Gripping. Your hands,
slicked with sweat. But I had
to hold it (hold it) tighter.
Heights aren't scary.
but
I've dropped your
porcelain
skin one time too many.
Left me wary.
No more scars for us.

in this small seculuded spot
where our actions speak louder then our thoughts
but our mouths spoke the words of mimes on the 9-5
broke the silence by asking the time while waiting on the divine moment
...where your hand was right next to mine
a movement so suttle seemed like moving mountains
or sneaking threw land mines
so i reached across the dark blue seat
to form a forgien handshake the place  our palms would first meet