I watch the skeletal frame of your hand wrapped around a coffee cup.
It is sliding along the cold plastic with toughened palms as I recall the feel of your palm pressed against the landscape of my own.
I hope beyond reason that one day I might feel it again and no longer have a reason to envy a plastic cup or the pens you hold when writing or even the door handles you operate without a thought that anyone could be jealous of brushed steel like I am jealous of the seconds you spend in contact with the buttons of your shirt and the steering wheel of your car. However, that is nothing compared to how jealous I am of the words you can craft beauty out of above all else.
-I long to be one you spill poetry about the same way I can’t stop bleeding words for you.-
September 17th, 2019
CRUSOE 