My waist misses your hands
Squeezing it.
You may not know, but
There are rivers and
There are different countries
In your hands.
Using them, you create
A firework and sometimes
A layer of snowflakes.
Your hands are the
Most beautiful creation…
Those have been around
A little more than inside out.
And while I lie down
In a whatever room
The pages of the flapping
Calendar are rude enough
To remind me that it’s been
Twelve and a half days
Since you touched.
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