Hands

The night was long,

the mist of fall morning

extinguishes the fires

of a summer, loitering

.

too late, past the appropriate

amount of propriety.

.

My shoulder’s sink,

weary of carrying loads

a body shouldn’t carry.

.

I can’t reach your hands,

though the invitation is clear,

I try, arms outstretched.

.

I see your palms, sweaty

with anticipation of a merging

skin against skin. I intuit

your needs and feel

.

the changing season.

Limbs, wanting to experience

a climate different,

.

to fill the hollow spaces,

between our most profound

of organs, each yearning

to touch palm’s desire.

.

You feel the acceptance,

I feel the attraction.

The moments between

the mating of each

sits heavy, as infinity bleeds.