(The smallest one is round like a berry.)
I can picture the stems you call fingers
Methodically pressing into my flesh
As we pretend to be distracted by conversation.
I was rooted to that place on the couch,
Far enough away so I could watch your whole body move,
Close enough to grow our longing.
But I watched you a second too long,
And our brief silences quickly soured.
You were not careful with me.
You were not careful with any piece of me.
You let my toes slide out of your fingers
When the first distracting sound made you
Look away.
You offer no comforting words
As I now bend down to pick up the pieces myself.
I count my digits, one by one, honestly believing
You've kept something of me.
Looking up to find you've gone,
I realize I'm right.
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