I've learned to love the weight of your palmYour hand rests lightly on my shoulder andMore Like This
I cannot decide whether to shake it off
or curl my body into the hollow nest of your side.
I wait. Stare ahead. Think -
I swear my thoughts are so loud
you must be holding back a million smiles
a hundred chuckles, soft and low,
to know my trip-tumbling mind.
I cannot though I want.
I will not though I could.
I do not though I would.
And so it eats at me - your hand,
the whorls of your fingertips dissolve
the thick cords of my sweater.
I am still as new-snow driveways
afraid to tilt and send the instant teetering,
but I can feel the heat of your palm
melting my resolve.
So I pin my quiver-slip lips shut tight.
Landlocked in a moment, I am stuck;
all boats and paddles and life-vests
but not a drop of water in sight,
while the anchor around my neck tugs me down.
And then it's gone, and you laugh,
you smile and recline and
act as if the world hadn't stopped spinning;
as if my heart hadn't hammered out-
what if? what if? what if?