July 26, 2013 § 9 Comments
When I think about the
way your fingertips touch mine
And leave spots like an
autumn manicure in a daydream haze
I remember seasons of change,
seasons that came and went
Before the day the wind swept in
before the day you swept in.
I hope you stay, with fingers
crossed; entangled in yours. And
always caress these fingertips.