I miss the hugs
our hands do
the ones that start
with palms touching
before fingers rally
and grip the backsides
what each injects
travels down the other’s arm
I never have to wait long
to see if it reaches
all the way to my heart
It was a Saturday morning when I asked some of my fellow-bound book buddies if they wanted to get out and go exploring so we leaped off our ledge and straight into the river of knowledge. Drifting by
the breath knows not to wander lips to stay pressed eyes to put their feet up and when there are no grains of shifting sands in the mind my day rests inside me