Sunday, October 29, 2017

Between thumb and forefinger

For every morning I wake up and it occurs to me again that somehow I ended up with her, when I never would have presumed she would think to look my way, let alone desire a conversation with me—here's the pinch. I never saw this coming, but every time she takes my hand, or I slip hers into mine, and the fit is soft and warm like a small animal, I'm willing to be struck again. And those dark eyes, their secrets that she only tells to me. I want to be lost there, caught in the blissful storm until the skies are wrung dry. She has changed my whole world. She has given me everything.