Hands together
Hands not
yours in mine
mine in yours
let go
hold on
tighter
tighter
--Ow you hurt me!
let go
--Just our pinkies then?

and we walked down another aisle
of a not so crowded store
in a not so crowded town  
a promise dangling between us
and forever on my mind

The swell of your feverish hands over mine.
Sweat soaking into my skin.
I’m clutching every part of you I can grasp,
Every part of you I can fit into my palm.

We’re sitting beneath the hollow tree,
Beneath the ocean of a sky,
Beneath the screaming black-billed cuckoos.

We don't say a word because we don't need to;
Just silent prayers burned between us,
Scarred into pale, malnourished bones.

I look at you as your sloe-eyed gaze
bores into the mountains of clouds swimming above us.

I want to kiss you,
But all I can do is lay my head on your shoulder,
Wishing I could build a home out of your collarbones.

I don't ever feel safe anymore.

Except when I’m forgetting everything, with you.

At dusk,
I tried to unlearn the way the gold in your skin,
Possessed your face in scintillant rays of spots.

I could count each one if I had the time,
But you’re already turning your spine stuffing back away from me,
And skipping back home

Without the bother or concern to look back.

the rough texture on his fingers
from putting his soul into his art
his guitar, all black and shiny
a piece of art alone, extra special when he plays it
the warmth of his palm
i trace the lines that cover it
making an 'A' on the center
i clasp my hand, interlacing our fingers
rubbing my thumb against his
i kiss him
nothing makes me happier
than the simple feeling
of his hand

I find her between the dimples of happy couples
and the sparkling cider of fluid hands: Coming together at 
the stem

How can you hold the very makings of disaster?
How do you ease yourself in finding trouble to hold onto?
You are gripping the hands that once
fumbled for a tearing of skin,
bore blood at the fingertips,
greeted the brick wall with excitement and shattering
my numbness along with it.
What comfort do you seek in weaving your fingers
with ones that tugged desperately on hair
and swept away floodgates of water from tired eyes,
proving to me I was weakened once again?

But I look down at the shaking documents of disaster
when your embodiments of happiness reach for them
and cover the wounds in an unhesitant embrace.
And I know those previous questions don't matter;
your infectious comfort of my hands rests in the palm
and spreads.

My hand is now only holding your hand.
Only.
And that's the only thing it should now do.

I used to think holding hands was needles.
To try show possession of someone to society through constant contact.
Having such control over another, whom you supposedly care for.
Steering them through life.
However, now I see the truth.
I now understand why couples insist upon the concept.
It is not to show possession or control.
Holding hands shows absolute love and devotion to another.
It shows the boundless qualities of the heart.
That such simple contact to another makes your hearts beat as one.
You feel safe.
You are at peace

you like holding my hand tight and carrying my mess of pretend because i don't breathe in or out for too long and i love you the [only] way i know how - like the idea that we are made for each other can take us past tonight