I don't think staring is weird until you stare at someone,
it doesn't even have to be their eyes, it can be anything
their coat, shoes, watch
It's strange that you stare at my hands...
I think it's strange that I also stare at yours.
and I don't reach for it, I just
stare
it is impossible to stare at your hand and not wonder if they hold someone else
it's been months since you waved me good-bye with those same hands but I still want to salute you with mine, Hello. How have you been?
But you stare at my hands too, I've seen it
you sit nearly the opposite side of the room but I follow
from my shoes to my lap where my hands lie still,
you stare and I think maybe you want to reach out
I want you to.
but you crumble your hands into balls, and sit tight
so we are only left staring
yearning.
YOU ARE READING
Not Quite, Midnight | poems
Poetry~she sets out to write for herself but casts a line from her ship of lunatics in case there was someone adrift trying to read along.
